


Earth's Champion

by Lilliterra



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Humor, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fight Scenes, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Shiro (Voltron)'s Missing Year, Whump, and some creative interpretation, can it be both, i can smooth it into the cracks of my problems with the show, i didnt use the archive tag bc only original characters die, i really only make it canon compliant so that, well with seasons 1 through 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-10-06 13:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 50,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20507648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliterra/pseuds/Lilliterra
Summary: After the Kerberos mission goes awry,  Shiro is forced to fight for Galran entertainment. His success in the ring draws the attention of Haggar, who wants him for nefarious purposes. Will Haggar break his spirit and win his compliance as her Champion and science experiment? Or will Shiro's kindness and mercy to his fellow creatures win out?





	1. Kerberos

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, this is my first fic posted on AO3. It is also my first Voltron fanfic. I always wanted more information on what happened to Shiro in Galran captivity, but of course due to the nature of the show (for kids) we never got to see as much of that as I would have liked. I am trying to keep it as canon-compliant as possible, for a plausible fill-in. My goal is to write the backstory that we deserve. What that means is that for the sake of the story and getting into young Shiro's character, I have got to cover some ground that was covered in the show. With that in mind, we must start here on Kerberos.
> 
> I used the archive warning for violence, so this fic will have unmarked violence, but there are also mild suggestive themes and mild language.
> 
> On FF.net I have categorized this fic as hurt/comfort/adventure and I think that describes the genre pretty well.

Two months away from earth felt like an eternity.

Two months to get to the edge of the solar system, beyond Pluto, on a moon flung out in its orbit cycle, stretched away from the sun like the tip of an uncurled flower. The sun was little more than a star among other stars, shining down on Kerberos with a cold light.

Takashi Shirogane stepped from the ship into that light, in what he felt was a rather cliched reenactment of Apollo Eleven. Cameras placed on the outside of the ship watched him, and so did the Garrison on earth, three billion miles away and five hours in the future.

Doctor Holt and his son Matt Holt followed soon after, their footsteps dropping into the dust. Shiro looked around. The planet looked pretty lifeless from here. However, the two scientists didn’t see it that way. They shuffled about, huffing and puffing over the comms, immediately beginning to assemble their equipment for measurements, with a bit of witty banter.

There were long poles for a tripod, sample cases – Shiro helped carry them out—and the drill.

Shiro had gotten to know Matt and Doctor Holt better than he’d ever imagined doing back on earth, and if it were possible a bit _too _well, as sharing tight quarters with two other people for such a prolonged amount of time was definitely a sort of bonding experience. He was relieved for the gravity again, relieved to stretch his legs a little bit. He wandered away from the two of them, only a few paces, but enough to soak in the personal space.

He’d learned practically everything there was to know about their routine, their past, their stories, their family. The sly Kate, the exuberant Matt, and of course Mrs. Holt, herself a scientist, (botany not astronomy) consigned to wait on earth. He’d barely met them back on earth but now he almost felt like part of their family.

And yet, Shiro wasn’t really a scientist. He thought of himself as more of a soldier. That was what he was good at, the more tangible, real stuff, less of the heady theories. But at this moment he couldn’t help getting a little philosophical.

They were now standing farther from earth than anyone ever had before—well, any _humans, _Shiro amended, although the existence of extraterrestrial life was still unconfirmed, and would be until they returned to earth and examined their samples. He looked out beyond Kerberos, beyond the solar system, into the great unknown. If there _was _life out there, what would it be like?

In all honesty, his pragmatism told him that even Pluto wasn’t far enough. The chances of _ever _encountering whatever life might be floating around out there in the galaxy were slim at best. But if mankind ever _did _make first contact—well—he hoped it would be a good one. Humans had yet to touch a new civilization without squashing something on accident or on purpose. Was that just the nature of first contacts? He hoped not. Because that made him the explorer on the sailing-ship. Hopefully he was more of a Magellan than a Cortez.

Because the history of civilizations meeting… well, it was troubled. Whichever one is more advanced in technology tends to subsume the other. Maybe that was why the thought of encountering extraterrestrial life gave him such apprehension. But it was also why it was important that brave, intelligent people like Matt and Doctor Holt were at the head of the effort. And, of course, modesty notwithstanding, he had the honor of being chosen with them. Because the Garrison was, in a sense, trusting him to represent earth, and in the event of first contact, the three of them would have it on their shoulders to start things off on the right foot.

Shiro returned to the group as Matt and Dr. Holt crouched by the tripod.

“Steady,” said Dr. Holt as the drill pierced the surface. The first exciting confirmation: it was indeed frozen water. Water was the element of life, the reason why Kerberos was a target to begin with.

When the drill retracted, it brought with it a beautiful blue ice core. Matt grinned and touched it.

“Easy, son,” said Dr. Holt. “This ice is delicate.”

“Amazing,” said Matt. “Isn’t this exciting, Shiro?”

Shiro smiled. “You guys get a little more excited about ice samples than I do.”

Dr. Holt couldn’t help correcting him. “This is history in the making. Not only have we traveled farther than any human ever has, but this ice could hold microscopic clues about the existence of life outside earth.”

“Think about it,” said Matt eagerly. “We could use those clues to become the first people to meet aliens!”

Dr. Holt continued smiling with amusement. “My life’s work would be complete.” Shiro detected the irony—it was unlikely in any case that they personally would have that privilege. But one could dream.

There was a tremble and the ground around them began to shake. Shiro stumbled back in confusion, but quickly began to take stock.

“What is that?” he heard Dr. Holt say over the comms. “Seismic activity?”

“We should get back to the ship,” said Shiro. Whatever this was, it alarmed him. The ground was shaking violently now. It wasn’t safe to be out here.

The sky was darkening and a shadow slid over the site. He looked up for the source of the shadow and found it. Something was coming over the horizon. A shape like a dark bird, with the wings and outstretched neck of a goose. But this was no bird—it was huge. Purple lights ringed it and out upon its head, a purple light flared.

For a half-second he couldn’t even think beyond trying to fathom this _thing. _

_Garrison. Are you seeing this?_

They must be. But by the time they responded with instructions it would be too late.

This was first contact.

And he wasn’t Cortez _or _Magellan. He was an unlucky native of the Yucatan, about to catch the smallpox.

“Run!” he shouted. His heart squeezed hard. “Come on! Run!”

They ran—for what? Their own craft? A harsh light poured down from the shape in the sky, bathing Kerberos in violet. The rumble turned into a roar and the ground cracked under its shaking. Rocks began to rise into the airless space. Shiro’s feet lost traction and he realized with terror they were caught in the force of some beam. Boulders lifted and moved.

They ascended – and everything went black.

***

Shiro’s eyes stayed closed for a moment, as if glued. He felt oddly sluggish. There was a dull ache in his legs—well, many aches. He felt bruised all over.

What had happened? Kerberos—they’d reached Kerberos. Earthquake.

_No. _Tractor beam.

_First Contact._

His eyes fluttered open.

He could see Matt and Dr. Holt crouched beside him. They were kneeling, helmets covering their faces. Shiro was trained to make quick observations, and several astonishing ones came to him at once.

Astonishing observation number one: His helmet was off. And he was _breathing. _They were in a ship. The one he’d seen in the sky? It must be. And these aliens breathed the same air.

Astonishing observation number two: There were voices, and they were speaking. In _English. _

How was that _possible_? He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The floor was a cold, hard metal. His eyes swept up to meet a spacious, if dim, bridge and a glowing red console.

They were not alone—neither here nor in the universe.

One alien stood behind them, larger than a human, wearing black and purple armor. It held a weapon, clearly some kind of gun. Its face was hidden by a helmet.

Another alien stood before them on the bridge, less heavily armored. He caught a glimpse of purple fur on large, tufted ears. His breath caught in his throat. The speech was coming from a screen behind this alien. Shiro strained to push aside his bewilderment and focus on the message. It was imperative to understand what was happening. He’d already missed too much while unconscious.

“Emperor Zarkon. We were scouting system X-9-1 as ordered when we found these primitive scientists,” said the alien on the bridge. “I don’t think they know anything useful.”

There was another face on the screen, a helmeted nonhuman face with yellow eyes. Even before it spoke, Shiro found the sight of it chilling for reasons he couldn’t explain.

He struggled to wrap his muddled mind around the words. _Emperor… _

“Take them back to the main fleet for interrogation.”

This, he understood. There could be no further doubt, these creatures were hostile.

“The druids will find out what they know.”

Shiro’s eyes widened as he struggled to his knees.

_No. It’s not supposed to happen this way. Dr. Holt. Matt._

He tried to collect himself. _Say something. Anything._

It was his Garrison training that surfaced. The words spilled out, ungraceful, and desperate, but the best he could come up with. “Please! We come from a peaceful planet! We mean you no harm! We’re unarmed!”

A hit to the back of the head took him out again.


	2. Interspecies Diplomacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We rehash only a little canon here at the beginning. The alien character in this chapter is not Slav, but another member of his same species who is shown in the first season during flashbacks. I had fun.

When Shiro came to, he was sliding across another metal floor. He felt a tug on his shoulders and opened his eyes again. He was being dragged along a hall by at least two armored guards.

His head rang with a splitting headache.

_Where was he?_

And, horrified, he realized Sam Holt and Matt were no longer with him. He couldn’t remember anything since the bridge of the alien ship.

As if to answer his question, a window came into view. Through it he could see walls—squares—rows upon rows and columns of squares with blue windows. Cellblocks. He was in some kind of prison.

This was bad. This was very bad.

How _long _had he been out? They couldn’t still be on the ship. Couldn’t be. The ship had been huge, but this place was massive. What planet were they on? He twisted and tried to move, but the sluggishness was still present. It felt unnatural. What had they done to him? Some kind of sedative?

The kind of head injury required to keep a person under for… what had to have been hours… could have killed him. Still, his head was splitting, and he had no doubt that he’d also had a concussion. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried not to think about where they were going.

_Interrogation._

Around a corner, down another purple-tinted corridor. Then they stopped. He cracked an eye again. This was an alien planet. A soldier had to be observant. He knew this empire had to pose a threat to earth. The more information he could get about it the better.

Operating under the assumption that he’d ever again return to the garrison.

_Wait, _he told himself. _Wait, patience. You don’t know anything yet._

The guards stood before one of those blue-tinted cell screens. One of them pressed a furry hand to a small pad beside the door and the screen dissolved. Then, unceremoniously, they tossed Shiro over the threshold, tangled limbs and all. The screen re-formed.

Shiro sat up in the cell, pushing himself against a wall. He rubbed his fingers first against his temples, trying to soothe away the headache. Then he stretched out his arms and legs and checked for injuries. There were aches and bruises, but nothing that seemed too serious. He was alone in the cell.

The cell was on the ground floor. When he looked out he could see only the other side of the cellblock on the far wall, blue cubicles and dark, misty shapes that were… aliens?

And there were… he stepped forward to look out. So many _kinds _of aliens. They were all different shapes and sizes. Some were humanoid. Some seemed bulky, or lumpy, or gangly, pacing back and forth, or just amorphous.

_So many firsts. First person on Kerberos. First person outside the solar system. First human to meet aliens. To… well, ATTEMPT diplomacy with aliens. First human to even see… ANY of these aliens._

And no one would ever know.

No! They would. He’d get back to the Garrison somehow. He had to warn them. This empire… they posed a threat to earth. A serious threat.

What did he do now? He was trained for first contact, but none of the training even suggested a situation like this. What he wouldn’t do for a straightforward order from the Garrison right about now.

Well, he supposed his first priority was to get Matt and Dr. Holt out of danger. And then, preferably, get them all back to Earth. He didn’t know how he was going to do that, but, in the meantime…

He needed to find out as much as possible about the empire while he was here. He focused on that while he sat down again and rubbed his legs. Information. Information was a tactical advantage, and tactical advantages made him feel better. What did he know?

Not much. What did they say their emperor was called? What was the _species _called? The purple furry ones?

Nothing. He knew next to nothing.

They were much, much more advanced than humans. How did one even move a ship of that size? Not even the garrison had been able to manage something like that. And… travel times. Interstellar travel. And however it was that he could understand their speech.

_Emperor Zarkon. The main fleet._

Earth was no match for a spacefaring empire with a fleet. And this empire had made it more than clear they weren’t interested in peaceful negotiations. The thought made the hair on his arms stand up.

There was no doubt that Zarkon’s empire had to be kept away from earth at all costs.

_System X-9-1._

They’d been in earth’s system. But it was unimportant enough to have a number, rather than a name.

At this, a little hope returned. He wasn’t being interrogated. Yet. And surrounded by all these prisoners… Maybe he’d be forgotten. Lost in the shuffle. Their only hope lay in their absolute insignificance.

He couldn’t help thinking desperately about Matt and Dr. Holt. Where were they? If they hurt Matt, he didn’t know _what _he’d do. Matt was only sixteen. He had proved his worth on the mission over and over, but for the first time Shiro began to regret his inclusion. They should have left him on earth. He didn’t deserve to be in this situation. He and Sam Holt were adults and Matt was only a teenager, a kid really, and they had brought him out into the depths of space and now he’d been kidnapped by aliens and Shiro had—he slammed a fist against the wall. _No _idea where he was right now.

Whomever was on the other side of the wall jumped a little and moved in response.

Shiro groaned and rubbed his temples again.

“Shiro?”

“Dr. Holt!” Shiro jumped to his feet immediately. “Where are you?” The voice was coming from one of the other cells, but he couldn’t tell which one.

“I’m above you. Second level.”

“Oh, thank God! Is Matt with you?”

“Shiro. Dad.” There was a familiar voice from the cell on Shiro’s right, but it sounded a little less spunky than usual. Still, he could hear the gratitude and relief in Matt’s voice.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. Are _you _all right? They sure clocked you good.”

“Just a little headache, but nothing I can’t deal with,” said Shiro. He kept his voice steady for Matt’s sake. Then he sat down again.

There was a moment of silence.

“Aliens,” said Matt.

The word, isolated, threw Shiro for a loop. “I’m sorry?”

“We found ‘em.”

He kept his voice low, and his eyes wavered. “We sure did, buddy.”

There was another pause.

“Hey cell five! What’s your malfunction? I’m tryin’ to sleep.”

The voice had come from Shiro’s left, and he was once again forcibly reminded that the aliens could speak English.

“We’re new,” he tried. “Just got thrown in here. Please—where are we?”

“You don’t know?” the voice had a strange, almost Slavic accent and a high-pitched tone.

“No, I don’t. We were kidnapped from… we were kidnapped.”

“Ahh. Well, you’ll find out eventually, I suppose. You’re with the Galra Empire’s main fleet, on Commander Sendak’s prisoner transport ship, the _Lapix.”_

“…we’re on a ship?”

“A mighty big one.”

“So… Galra Empire? Are they the purple furry ones, then?”

“That is indeed…” the alien trailed off. “Oh boy. You really don’t know _anything,_ do you?”

Shiro gritted his teeth and spoke more slowly. “No… I don’t. So please. Enlighten me.”

“All right, all right. No need to get snippy. They really did drag you in off some podunk planet on the edge of the galaxy, huh? Oh boy. Oh ho boy.”

“Don’t insult my planet.” Shiro knew he was already fudging interspecies diplomacy, but he couldn’t help it. He wished he could see the smug little bastard he was talking to.

“Sorry, sorry. My bad. Sore subject. Not your fault it was conquered by the Galra.”

“Our planet wasn’t conquered by the Galra!”

There was a brief stunned silence from the other side of the wall, and an interested one from Matt and Dr. Holt.

“Oy! Well then,” the piping voice exclaimed. “You’d better shut your head about it!”

Shiro’s mouth dropped open, but before he could say anything, the alien continued.

“You never know which prisoner might be an informant for the Galra! Could be you! Could be me! The Galra empire is always looking for new worlds to conquer, no? Just pretend you come from a conquered world. There’s a good lad.”

Shiro shut his mouth. He followed the logic. But didn’t have enough information yet to carry it off, and the pretense wouldn’t stand up under scrutiny. Hopefully they could avoid scrutiny.

“You getting this Matt?” he asked, quieter. “Doctor Holt?”

“Copy, Shiro,” said Dr. Holt.

“Yeah,” Matt muttered.

“All right,” Shiro conceded to the alien. “Anything else we need to know right away?”

“Well, I guess you probably ought to know why you’re in cell number five.”

“Is that…” He looked out the blue force screen again. There must be hundreds, maybe thousands of cells here. He hadn’t thought about it, but… “Is that important?”

“I’m in cell six. You’re in five. And your buddy on the other side is in four. It means we’re up next.”

“Up next?” Shiro had a bad feeling about that.

“For the Empire Championships. That’s what the _Lapix_ is infamous for.”

“The Empire Championships.” He repeated the words, trying to get a sense of what was being said.

“The biggest televised event in the Galra empire? Airs Thursday nights at 8pm on the Daiberzaal standard? Wow, you really do come from—”

“That’s ENOUGH!” Shiro’s angry shout stirred the entire cellblock. He could feel them.

“Shiro,” said Dr. Holt gently from above.

_Patience yields focus. Patience yields focus. _He had been through way too much in the last twenty-four hours.

“Sorry, man. It doesn’t really matter. The season finale is tomorrow. If it was a regular tournament day I’d say you have a chance, but in this case we’re all just cannon fodder.” And this time the voice sounded so depressed that Shiro actually felt a bit sorry for him.

“What… what happens in the season finale? I’m sorry. I have to know.” He looked back at the other wall, as though he could see Matt through it.

The alien let out a breathy sigh. “Haggar’s champion takes all comers.”

“Who’s—”

“One thing at a time, my man.” There was a pause. “As a prisoner at Lapix you have three numbers. The first is your serial number. It’s on your clothes.”

“They didn’t give us any clothes yet.”

“They will soon. The second is your waiting list number. That’s the same as your cell number. They move people around all the time, based on where you are in the lineup. Every week on Thursday cells one through forty go to the arena.”

“Arena…” Shiro felt a little sick.

“And usually less than twenty come back. I started in cell number 525. I’ve been here for over a year. To be fair, the first-tier tournament fights aren’t usually to the death. They fight until there’s a clear winner, and the loser gets sent to the work camps.”

“…okay.”

“And the third number is your tournament ranking. Level one is the highest. They say anybody who gets a rank four or higher gets noticed by Haggar.”

“Haggar?”

“Zarkon’s chief druid. I don’t know that much about her. She didn’t create the Empire Championships, but she’s one of the patrons. They say she uses them as a kind of audition process. Emperor Zarkon uses the games to learn about the strengths and weaknesses of newly discovered species. But Haggar uses them to discover… individuals. The current champion is sponsored and outfitted by Haggar.”

Shiro felt a brief chill. “All right, well… I don’t care about ranking. And neither do my friends. All we have to do is lose round one without dying.”

“I’m sorry,” said the alien on the other side of the wall. “But no. Season finale, remember? We’re not competing in the tournament. Haggar’s champion takes all comers. To show off his strength.”

“We’re expected to fight the Champion?” asked Shiro in dismay.

“No. We’re expected to die.”

The breath seemed sucked from Shiro’s lungs. He sat down again, hard. He couldn’t think anymore. His head was pounding again. When would they get water?

“Just one more thing,” he breathed after a minute. “What number is my friend up above?”

“Oh. Him? That’s not a number. He’s in cell F. They must have decided he wasn’t fit enough to fight. The letters get sent straight to the work camps.”

Over Matt’s cry of dismay, and Dr. Holt’s quiet “Oh,” Shiro felt relieved. And then he felt guilty about being relieved. But that was one less person who could die in the ring. Sam Holt would find a way to survive the work camps. If only they could all go there together.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know why. Maybe he’s too weak to fight. Anyone who’s sick, injured, or old gets shipped off to the work camps.”

That gave him a ghost of an idea. Maybe there was a way to get them out of this mess.


	3. The First Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Musha" means "mouse" in Russian. I think. Whoo, this was a long one.

Before the day was out, the guards came back. But this time they weren’t the purple-furred Galra. A group of metal-clad figures with lighted purple helmets passed in food (something that resembled oatmeal) and water through the force screen (they seemed capable of passing through it, even though Shiro wasn’t) and threw in the clothes the alien had spoken of. It wasn’t much, just a tattered purple shirt that looked (and smelled) like it had been worn by several other prisoners before him.

“Hey,” he said, and when there was no answer, he knocked on the right wall. “Hey. You. I never asked your name.”

“Musha,” said the alien. “Yours?”

“Shiro. Why can the guards get through the force field?”

“It only stops living things,” Musha grunted, sounding like he’d rather be sleeping. “Is this important?”

“Might be. Are they not…?”

“The sentries are fully automated.”

“I see.” After that he left Musha alone.

At this time Shiro was only wearing the gray undersuit he’d had on beneath his space suit. He didn’t even touch the smelly shirt. There was no need yet. He drank the water, though, and despite his suspicion, realized he needed to taste the oatmeal. It was mushy with a vegetable-y taste.

A little search uncovered a small push-button in the cell wall which extruded a thin privacy screen and a toilet.

Then there was nothing to do except wait for the next day. He leaned up against Matt’s wall. “Matt.”

“Y-yeah?”

“We’re gonna be okay.”

There was a long pause from Matt’s cell.

“Trust me. We’ll survive.”

“Y…you think we’re going to win?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” said Shiro, and he meant it.

“Thank you,” said a voice, but it wasn’t Matt. It was Dr. Holt. He sounded tired, but determined. “Matt. We’ll find each other again. I know it.”

There was a quiet sob from Matt, and Shiro’s heart wrenched.

***

He had tried to sleep. He was exhausted, and there was a thin cot on the floor, but it was cold in cell five, and there was too much on his mind and too many emotions swirling.

Matt and Sam Holt were probably having the same trouble, but if he tried to talk to them any longer, he knew he would only anger the other prisoners, so he was quiet and at least _tried _to sleep. He caught maybe a couple hours. He wasn’t sure how long it had been or what qualified as “night” on this ship. He could turn the lights on and off with another button.

All he knew is that he was eventually wakened from a restless doze when he heard the sound of sentries marching—overhead. They stopped directly above his cell.

They were coming for Sam Holt.

The sentries didn’t speak. He didn’t know if they _could _speak. They just rattled and clanked. At first Shiro didn’t know if Matt was even awake.

“Looks like it’s time for me to go, Matt,” said Dr. Holt bravely.

“Dad!” there was a thunk and scrabbling noise from cell four. “DAD!”

“I’m going to be all right! Just stay with Shiro!” His voice was already moving away.

And that was the last Shiro heard from Sam Holt. Matt kept weeping for some time. Shiro knew there wasn’t anything he could say, but he wanted to make some kind of sound so that Matt could hear him. He didn’t want Matt to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone either. Eventually he settled into a sort of low hum.

Matt’s sobs eventually quieted into sniffs, and then died out. The sentries came again with water and more of the oatmeal. It looked the same, although it tasted better this morning. At least they were fed plenty. He supposed if the Galra were going to put on a fight they would need strong competitors.

But the next time, a couple of hours later, when Shiro saw a real flesh-and-blood Galra instead of an automated sentry, he knew this was it. Musha had been right. They were going to the arena.

The Galra – he listened to their speech and heard this one called a Lieutenant – opened the cell with a palm. The blue screen dissolved.

One of the Galra kicked the purple shirt. “Put it on.”

Shiro stood up and carefully donned the ragged garment, eyeing the two aliens.

“Time to go.” The Lieutenant leveled a blaster at him. As Shiro stepped outside the cell, for the first time since Kerberos, he could see Matt Holt. The boy was crouching in the back of cell four, and he’d put on the purple shirt already. His eyes fixed on Shiro. He looked terrified.

The other Galra moved on to Matt’s cell, opened it, and pointed his blaster at Matt. “Come.” He had none of the careful intensity with which the Lieutenant managed Shiro, however, and Shiro had the feeling they both knew who was more dangerous.

They exited the cellblock. Once Shiro risked a glance behind him (to the prod of a blaster) and saw that the other aliens from their cellblock were being led along behind them. They were a motley bunch.

But he wasn’t able to get a good look at them until they reached their destination. It was only a few halls away, and it was a sort of holding room. The floor was sand, and the ceiling sloped upwards from where they’d come and downwards toward a closed, pentagonal door. He glanced at the ceiling. The underside of bleachers. He could practically feel the weight above, and the vibrations of movement.

Even as they’d approached through the halls, he’d heard the noise—a dull, building roar, a heavy sound that he recognized. Crowds. Shouting.

The raw anticipation of a sporting event was like a pheromone that permeated the air, bleeding through the walls and infecting the entire company. Shiro’s nerves reached a crescendo.

The Galra had vacated the waiting room. The rest of the aliens trembled. They weren’t gladiators, he realized, any more than he or Matt were. He could hardly take stock of them all.

There was a lime-green fleshy alien with leaf like protrusions sticking from the sides of its head. Next to it was a green frog-like alien, then an alien with fish lips and four arms, and an antennae-like protrusion from its forehead. There was a blue and white spotted alien with floppy ears like a dog. There was a bulky, lizardlike magenta alien.

There were three humanoids as well, of indeterminate gender. One had pale yellow with webbed fingers, another two were of the same kind, with rock-studded skin. They had already been here when he and Matt arrived. He had the feeling that they were from cells 1 through 3.

And lastly, there was a pink, six-armed creature with a little beak that reminded him of an octopus. Each arm was sticking through the sleeve of a gray suit and a purple shirt not unlike the ones he and Matt were wearing.

He had only to hear it whispering to the fish-lipped alien before he realized who it was.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“From cell five?” the fish-lipped alien whispered back with some apprehension, but not quietly enough. Shiro ignored them.

“Yep.”

“The guy who was shouting in the cell last night?” the magenta lizard grunted. “I bet he’ll be an absolute beast in the ring.”

Now, hang on. That wasn’t fair. He’d been tired, hungry, kidnapped, and Musha had mocked him. But they were _afraid. _Of _him. _And suddenly his idea morphed into something solid.

The pentagonal door slid open, and the dull roar turned into a sharp one. The sand stretched out flat over an area about the length of a football field. And it really was like a football stadium. There were four spiked pillars in the center. The walls of the arena sloped outward, and above them were bleachers so vast they looked like great planes. The stadium must have seated… Shiro’s mind wasn’t in a state to estimate. Ten thousand? The audience was a technicolor blur. He could smell their sweat.

The aliens huddled back. Figures appeared in the doorway. Sentries.

One of the sentries leveled a bladed weapon at the yellow-skinned humanoid that Shiro could only take for a sword. It had a semicircular blade affixed to its end that looked deadly as any scythe.

“You first,” rasped a synthetic voice.

“Wh—I—no!” Relative to the others in the room, the creature’s face was expressive and easy to read. He saw the panic in her? His? eyes. But the sentries came into the waiting chamber, and forcibly separated the denizen of cell one from the rest of the group. They dumped him in the sand outside the door, and a grated portcullis fell across the pentagon.

They could still see the ring, but they could not interfere.

The alien staggered to its bare feet. There were fins on its ankles. “I’m unarmed,” it was pleading with the sentries. “I don’t even have claws or teeth. Please!”

But the sentries had already powered down for the fight. He could see the purple light leaving their eyes.

The crowd roared, and Shiro’s eyes fell to the far side of the ring. There another pentagonal door had opened.

“PLEASE WELCOME…” It was the booming voice of an announcer.

“THE VICTOR OF THE YEAR 1023 EMPIRE CHAMPTIONSHIPS… MYZAX!”

There was an even greater roar, and Myzax emerged. They went on and, on, hardly dying down until Myzax reached the center of the ring. The yellow-skinned alien still had not moved from its position near the door.

“FIGHT!”

Myzax began to lumber towards them. Shiro watched him. He was not the quickest or most agile opponent. He had gray, leathery skin, and an ugly orcish face that gave Shiro the impression of low intelligence, though the assumption was likely prejudicial. His biggest strength appeared to be that he was armed.

He was at least 12 feet tall, wearing spike-studded gauntlets and a breastplate. But most importantly, he was carrying a torch-like wand. This weapon held a ball of sizzling purple energy.

The function of the weapon soon became apparent.

The amphibious alien was forced to dodge as Myzax swung the torch. The energy ball came flying across the arena, and smashed into the wall, where it disappeared.

From there it was more throwing and dodging. The alien didn’t even try to fight back. It was painful to watch, and Shiro knew it could only go on for so long. All the while Myzax kept lumbering closer and closer, until he had the alien cornered against the wall.

Shiro tried to stop watching. He really did. “Matt,” he said. “Don’t look.” Matt looked away, but then looked again through squinted eyes.

In the end, it was the gauntlet, not the orb. Myzax brought it down with a crushing blow. They heard the crack of the amphibian’s spine, and a horrific squeal.

The aliens in the waiting room recoiled. Matt let out a choked breath.

Myzax lumbered back to the center of the ring.

“AND… MYZAX REMAINS THE CHAMPION!”

Sentries were already swarming out to remove the alien’s body.

“NEXT UP! BALMERANS FROM THE PLANET BALMERA!”

Shiro’s stomach turned. This was sick blood sport. How could they enjoy this? The two rocky aliens were already standing up.

“I see we go together,” said one of them in a distinctly female voice.

“Indeed, sister,” said the male one grimly. “We shall approach him from either side. Perhaps we can win.”

Shiro perked up a little. Whatever they saw wouldn’t be pleasant, but these rocky aliens clearly had some fight in them.

The grate slid up again, and the sentries appeared, but the Balmerans didn’t wait to be prodded. They barreled out into the ring. Then, true to their word, they went separate ways, the sister to the right, the brother to the left. Myzax turned back and forth, trying to track both of them. Maybe this was going to work.

The sister stopped, and made some sort of taunt, with a yell that he couldn’t hear over the shouts of the crowd. Myzax took the bait. Focusing on her, he raised his torch.

Meanwhile, the brother lowered his head, capped with a dark helmet-like bone protrusion. He charged for Myzax’s back with a powerful head-butt, like some kind of hornless bull. The blow connected with the gladiator’s thigh, and he staggered. The energy ball flew, but it was misaimed.

The sister took the opening to come running in. She tackled his left while the brother grabbed for the torch. The aliens in the holding room held their breaths.

Myzax shook himself like a dog, throwing the Balmeran sister away from him. He swung his weapon downward and, not even bothering to throw the energy ball, plunged it into the Balmeran brother’s face.

There was a sizzle and the loud _SNAP_ of energy. The brother fell away. His face was… not even a face anymore, just a blackened lump.

Even despite the general noise, they could hear the sister scream. She staggered back to the arena wall. She seemed frozen, unable to move as the gladiator raised that torch again. And then, with the practiced ease of a professional batter, he threw the ball. This time his aim was true.

The crowd roared again. A general aura of doom settled more heavily over the rest of the prisoners.

“WELL WELL FOLKS, YOU’RE IN FOR A TREAT! NEXT UP WE HAVE A NOVELTY SPECIES FROM… PLANET OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN! … AFTER THE COMMERCIAL BREAK!”

Cell four. _Matt._

The commercial break was an opportunity for the sentries to more thoroughly clean up the arena, and concessions to be sold. Myzax retreated briefly.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Matt said tremulously. “I’ll never see my family again.”

Shiro was biding his time, watching the sentries. There could only be a few more seconds until the end of the commercial break. “You can do this,” he said, putting his hand on Matt’s shoulder. Anything to encourage him in the moment, but he couldn’t explain his plan out loud. He could only hope Matt would understand.

Shiro braced himself for what he was about to do.

The gate withdrew to the ceiling. One of the sentries stepped in again and pointed that sword straight at Matt, who gasped.

That was his cue. He bellowed, and leaped forward, grabbing Matt by the shoulder. He shoved the younger boy backwards into the sand, then went from under the sentry’s arm to wrest the sword from its grasp. The creatures were surprisingly unstable.

Still inside the gate, he wheeled round, brandishing the sword. The aliens recoiled from him. Musha showed confusion, the rest only terror. “This is MY fight!”

These Galra seemed to respect bloodlust. Well, maybe they’d let him get away with this.

_Sorry, Matt._

He turned on Matt, and swung the sword at him below the knee. He winced internally at the ripping of fabric, the thin line of blood, and the absolutely shocked look on Matt’s face.

“I want BLOOD!!”

Shiro pounced on Matt, who was already on the ground. With his face only inches from Matt’s, he dropped the mask for the only second he had. “Take care of your father.”

As comprehension dawned on Matt’s face, he felt sentry hands on his shoulders. And, still holding the sword, Shiro was dragged backwards into the ring.

The grate descended behind him. The automatons dropped him in the sand.

He could give only one more glance back, but the gratitude on Matt’s face, even as he sprawled on the ground, was worth it.

“AND… AN UNUSUAL PLAY FROM THE NOVELTY ALIEN! IN A SHOCKING DISPLAY OF AGRESSION, ONE OF THEM INCAPACITATES THE OTHER AND SIEZES THE RING!”

Shiro pulled himself together and stood, shaking sand from his clothes. He still had the sword. Thank God, he still had the sword.

Myzax entered the ring, with that butt-ugly face. Shiro still had to defeat him. He saw what the Balmerans had done. If only he had a blaster, instead of this short-range bladed weapon. It would be hard to get in close without a hit from that energy ball. And once he did, Myzax could still conceivably crush him. The leathery alien was at least twelve feet tall and about as thick as a bear. There would be no wrestling him, like the two Balmerans had tried.

He’d have to go straight for the throat. If he could get past that torch.

Myzax was already flinging the first orb. It was fast, but Shiro was quick enough to dodge. It sailed past his shoulder.

He circled the ring to keep Myzax in the center, dodging the next two energy balls, not making his own move. After the third blow, the gladiator paused. The torch was dark. But after a minute it flared back up with new light.

_It has to recharge._

He was going to win.

He just had to close the distance between Myzax and himself.

On the first strike, he ducked behind the purple pillar, unable to hide the flinch as the purple orb crashed into the other side. That alien was getting far too good at aiming for him.

Myzax lumbered closer, and he made for the next pillar, hoping to reach cover quick enough. But he didn’t make it in time, the second projectile was already coming. On pure instinct he swung out with the sword.

It _worked. _The sword deflected the orb, which ricocheted up towards the ceiling dome.

Now knowing he had a defense, Shiro closed even more of the distance. The alien was only several paces away. He crossed the sword in front of his body, and deflected the third orb. This one sailed straight back towards Myzax, and the creature barely managed to evade.

The light in the torch died.

This was it. Shiro drew a deep breath and ran for the gladiator. The neck was too high to reach. He went for the right arm, the one that was holding the torch. With a heavy slash to the wrist that held the torch, the alien dropped the weapon and bellowed in pain. It swung its left fist, but Shiro had already ducked and rolled. He came to his feet behind the alien, and copying the Balmeran, jumped up on its back.

Myzax twisted, but Shiro had him by the straps of the breastplate. He hung on for dear life, shaken back and forth like a doll. But even Myzax realized that wasn’t working, and reached around towards his back. Shiro climbed higher. Now he was practically straddling the gladiator. He wrapped an arm around its neck. Then with the other arm, without a pause for regrets, he brought up the sword and slit the creature’s throat.

Myzax stumbled onto his knees. With the lowered height, Shiro’s feet touched sand. Blood gushed from the creature’s neck. It tried to scream but the only sound was a gargle, which was painfully audible.

For the crowd had gone deathly silent.

There was a hush as Myzax bled out onto the sand. Blood covered Shiro’s hands, red as human blood, but much, much, more of it. He staggered back, leaving the sword embedded in the alien’s flesh.

He couldn’t understand the silence at first. It was more unnerving than the noise. They should be cheering… right?

He stood back and looked at them, still panting heavily. What happened next? He won. He defeated their champion. No one else would die… right?

The silence of the crowd slowly turned into noise. They were yelling. But it was _angry. _His face dropped in disbelief. Boos and hisses sounded around the stadium.

“WE HAVE A WINNER! CONGRATULATIONS, CHAMPION! PLEASE PLACE YOUR DOMINANT APPENDAGES IN THE AIR AND DO NOT MOVE OR YOU WILL BE INCINERATED.”

Shiro slowly raised his blood-soaked hands over his head.

_Congratulations, Takashi Shirogane. You’ve just become the first man to kill an alien._


	4. Go to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! From here on out, the plot is mine!

“STUNNING! AND A LITTLE AWKWARD! THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. CHAMPION MYZAX HAS BEEN OVERTURNED IN LAST-MINUTE UPSET.”

The booing continued.

“NOW NOW, FOLKS, LET’S NOT GET TOO EXCITED. WE HAVE AN INTERVIEW COMING UP WITH THE NEW CHAMPION. PLEASE STAY TUNED.”

There was a long pause, and the crowd settled down slightly. Shiro only lowered his hands a little bit. He didn’t want to get incinerated.

Both doors to the ring opened, and at least ten Galra poured out with blasters. They formed a ring around Shiro, weapons trained on his body.

A female alien walked out from the far door. She was a tall, pink-skinned humanoid who wore a glittering dress covered in sequins. In lieu of hair, she had a hair-shaped… frill? Crest? She was encased in a blue-tinted bubble, and as she walked toward him she seemed to glide. The bubble, he realized, was a force-screen, of a similar type as the cells.

She carried a microphone, and she smiled beatifically as she broke the Galra ranks and approached him.

“Well, well! This is certainly a surprise! A new last-minute champion!”

Shiro sneered at her. The audience was not having it either, they booed again, though quieter.

“Aww, what’s this grumpy face?” She turned down her lip in a pout. “You won!” She smiled again, encouragingly, and proffered the microphone. “What’s your name?”

He eyed the microphone, debating whether to answer. “Shiro,” he said finally. The word echoed around the stadium.

“Smile, Shiro!” she laughed light-heartedly. “You’re on camera!”

He did not smile. He searched her eyes, which were all pupil, no white, and surrounded by thick eyeliner. She gave him nothing.

“So, I think we’re all wondering about… well… you. Tell us about yourself! What is your species?”

“Human.” The word was a whisper, but the microphone caught it.

“Not to be insensitive, Shiro, but I’ve never actually heard of humans before, and neither has most of our audience. But it seems like you’re capable of quite a lot! What planet do you hail from?”

His heart rose in his throat. Of course she _would _ask him that. It was stated quite innocently, but no less dangerous for that. His lips tightened.

“Don’t want to answer that? It’s okay, I understand. Let’s try something else. What motivates you to fight? We’re all burning to know. You seem so… passionate.”

His eyes narrowed, and she involuntarily took a step backward.

After a moment, though, her face softened, and her eyes glistened. “Tell us your story, Shiro. You won! How did you come to be involved in the Empire Championships? Is there anyone special at home watching right now?”

He couldn’t speak. He just stared at her, jaw locked and eyes smoldering.

“Come on,” she pleaded. “Surely you have _something _to say to our audience.” The reporter stepped up and extended her microphone beyond the bubble.

Shiro leaned in. “Go to hell.”

He immediately knew it was the wrong thing.

The reporter backed off again, looking nervous. “Well, there you have it, folks! Have a great night and see you again in two weeks for the beginning of next season!”

“THIS CONCLUDES THE 1023 EMPIRE CHAMPIONSHIPS! A BIG THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSORS, AND OF COURSE TO OUR AUDIENCE! HAVE A SAFE JOURNEY HOME!”

***

It wasn’t cell five this time.

First they had taken him to the shower rooms, which ran cold as ice. He rinsed off the blood and sand, and when he made it back out his undersuit had been replaced with the standard issue one that seemed to be common to the other prisoners. It had a serial number printed on the back of the neck.

The place they took him was a different cell, this one lined up in one of the long purple corridors. He didn’t know what number it was. Did he still have a queue number?

All he knew is that he was no longer near Matt (who had probably already been shipped out) or the other alien he’d spoken to. In fact, there was nobody to speak to. This cell was more isolated than the others had been, for all that it was larger and slightly more accommodating. The bed actually had a frame, though it was slightly too small. He sat down on it and the springs creaked wildly. There was also a sink in here.

No longer just a holding cell, then—they were keeping him. Well, of course. He’d just defeated their champion. Did that mean…

An unfortunate realization dawned on him. That probably meant he would have to fight again.

But Matt and Doctor Holt wouldn’t. Hopefully they would make it. Wherever they were. He rubbed his face. The fight had unsettled him; he felt slightly ill. It hadn’t been a human, but… he’d never killed anyone before. Even though he’d done it to protect Matt, that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out the new terms. Within a few hours a smooth-skinned Galra, wearing a helmet that covered his eyes, appeared at the door. Shiro could see his face through a rectangular gap in the door at about eye level.

“Champion Shiro.”

Shiro looked up but did not respond to this form of address.

“I’ve been sent to inform you that since your defeat of former champion Myzax you’ve been officially crowned the Champion of this season. However due to having bested only one opponent you are currently being afforded the privileges of a rank three fighter. You are allowed to train in the gym for one hour per day. Your new queue number is 37 and your next date of appearance is in twenty-one days.”

Then he disappeared.


	5. Thinking about Escape

Shiro stirred the strange green goop in his bowl with a plastic spork. It wasn’t all bad. It tasted like a cross between lime and cucumber.

They’d served it up at the counter of the prison ship’s cafeteria. Then he went and found a seat at the benches. As soon as he sat down, everybody else vacated the table.

They were all giving him veiled glances like he might snap and attack them at any moment. He put his head down and ate the goop.

They didn’t let all the prisoners go out at the same time, of course. Only a couple dozen at a time—they were being groomed to fight in the ring, after all, he supposed. There might be riots.

“Ah, hello there.” 

He looked up again.

It was that six-armed alien, Musha. The pink creature reminded him almost of a pink caterpillar. As annoying as he was, right now he was the only person in this entire ship that Shiro had spoken to before, and possibly the only person who wasn’t afraid of him. So when Musha hopped up on the other side of the table, he didn’t move.

Maybe if he talked to Musha, he could get more information. He’d almost forgotten about getting information since the fight yesterday. It shook him up too much, he supposed. All he’d been thinking about was survival.

But he knew he should be thinking about escape and getting back to the Garrison. He had twenty-one days to do it. Well… twenty now.

“Whoo,” said Musha. “That was amazing, man.” He folded his middle set of arms on the table while picking up the spork with one of his top arms.

Shiro just chewed and looked back drily.

“You sure pissed them off.”

“I was just trying to survive,” he said in a low voice. “I didn’t know it was going to piss them off.”

“The reason they’re upset is because you killed their champion. You upended the results of the entire season. I’m not saying Myzax was the best champion we’ve ever had, but… they were following him for a year. They don’t know what to think of you. They don’t _know _you.”

“What am I supposed to do about that? You’re the one who told me not to… you know.”

“I know! I know. Here’s the thing. If you want their respect, you’re going to have to _earn _it. And the showrunners know that. I’m trying to prepare you. They won’t let you leave the show so easy after a performance like that.” There was a little veiled sarcasm in Musha’s voice.

“They already told me I’d be fighting again. Twenty days from now.”

“Mhm.” Musha took a large bite of the food goo. A minute later he said, “If you want my guess… you’ll have to work your way up from the bottom. Or close to it.”

Shiro put down the spork, suddenly curious. “And what about you?”

“I haven’t fought yet. So I’m still in the lineup. The plan is to gracefully lose round 1 with my life intact.”

“Why do they do that? I mean, let people survive the first round. It seems like a competition to lose and leave.”

“Not necessarily.” Musha’s little beak frowned, and his little head feathers twitched. “There’s a few reasons. Eliminates competitors who aren’t sufficiently bloodthirsty. Second, you haven’t seen round one. The loser survives—usually—but they won’t declare a “clear winner” until he’s at least unconscious or badly injured.”

He sighed. “Oh, of course.”

***

Over the next few days Shiro threw himself into training. It wasn’t just because of the fights. It was… preparation to escape, he told himself.

But as the countdown ticked closer, he began to realize that escape may not be as close as he had planned. For one, he didn’t even know where he was going. Back to earth, sure. But he’d need a ship to do that. Not to mention finding out exactly where he was in the universe and how to pilot in the correct direction. And before he could even do any of that he’d have to get out of the cell. The one he was in now seemed significantly more secure than the original blue-screened one, and sentries patrolled the halls regularly. Any time he left for the gym or cafeteria he was escorted by at least two Galra with blasters, seeing that he was considered highly dangerous.

And lastly, the ship was highly sub-divided, with locked doors between every room and hall. He hated to admit it, but he could hardly imagine getting out of here without help.

When there were only seven days remaining until Shiro’s next appearance, the Empire Championships opened again for the year 1024.

That afternoon, he spied Musha in the cafeteria and walked over to meet him. Musha didn’t have on his usual snarky demeanor, though. He looked almost solemn, but when he saw Shiro he perked up bravely.

“Wellp, it’s my time, Shiro. I’m going on tonight.”

Shiro was dismayed. “Are you… I mean…”

Musha shrugged with a feigned nonchalance. “Nah, man, don’t worry. It’s only round one. Thanks to you, I’m going to live.”

“Well…” Shiro extended a hand across the table. He pursed his lips to hide his emotion. He’d grown rather fond of the pink alien, in spite of himself, the only friend he had left in this place. “Well then, good luck.” He wasn’t sure which arm he was going for, and the intended support turned into an awkward swipe.

Musha made it easy by grabbing his hand with the top arm. “You as well, my man.”

And they still had to eat after that. Shiro picked at his napkin. It was quiet until Musha tried something a little more light-hearted.

“At least you’ll have the new batch to keep you company. They don’t know you, so maybe they won’t be afraid of you.”

“New…?”

“At that table over there. We picked them up yesterday.” The pink alien discreetly pointed with one of his lower arms.

Shiro risked a glance off to the side. It was another diverse group that he wouldn’t have picked out as having anything in common. He was starting to recognize a few species, though he didn’t know their names. He turned back to Musha. “I didn’t even know we landed.”

The alien’s beak twisted in what could have been laughter. “Land? A ship this size? That’s a good one. They have shuttles that do the going up-and-down.”

He raised an eyebrow, feeling a ray of hope. _Shuttles. _As in, a vehicle stored on the _Lapix_ that could be used to escape. That was one item crossed off the list.

“Nah, the _Lapix_ never lands. It travels slowly; hits a wide circuit of occupied planets and labor colonies. I talked to these people already. We just stopped at the Hexod. That’s a mine. I thought we’d be dropping folks off, but instead we picked some up.”

“Hmmm.”

After a few more sips of the bland soup they had that day, Shiro looked back again. He quickly stopped when he realized one of them was already staring at him. It was a female humanoid alien with gold-colored skin. Not yellow, like the amphibian, but a pale, shimmering gold, and hair of the same color.

“Thought you said they didn’t know who I was.”

“They don’t.”

“Then why is she staring at me?” he side-eyed the group, but didn’t move again, as he didn’t want them to know he was talking about them.

Musha looked confused. “I don’t… I…” he glanced back and forth a few times. “She… oh. She’s a Herdazian.”

He was nonplussed. “I don’t know anything, remember?”

“Herdazians. Funny creatures.” The pink alien scratched his head. “Their quintessence is fueled by aesthetics.”

When that explanation was met with a blank stare, Musha dumbed it down even further. “They have to look at pretty things or they die.”

It took him a second, but he reddened. “Oh boy.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Haha. Okay. That’s great, but I don’t swing that way.”

“What way?”

“I mean… I’m only interested in… other… humans.”

Musha managed a laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. I said _aesthetics. _It doesn’t necessarily mean she wants anything from you. She just thinks you’re the most beautiful thing in the room.”

He ducked his head. Still. Was that supposed to make it _less _awkward? 

At that moment the timer buzzed for the end of their time in the cafeteria. They fell in line to leave.

“Good luck,” said Shiro again. “You’ll be okay.”

***

Three days remained until Shiro’s appearance. He hadn’t seen Musha in the cafeteria since the day of the season opening. He hadn’t expected to, but he didn’t know what the outcome had been either. He supposed he’d have to get used to not knowing.

He hadn’t seen the new arrivals either, or the Herdazian. They’d probably heard all about him by now, and were just as spooked as everybody else. Being alone twenty-two hours a day was really starting to wear on him, especially with Musha gone. He had been doing exercises and push-ups and things, but, as he’d discovered, one of the side-effects of solitary confinement was creeping depression. He felt his energy draining away.

_What’s wrong with you? Don’t you have more mental discipline than this?_

And he was _bored. _

But there were positives. Apparently the privileges of rank three included soap, regular showers, and even access to paper and a pencil. He spent most of the time doodling. He wasn’t very good at it, but it was something. There was nothing interesting around to draw from observation.

At first he thought about “visual notes” – he could draw the sentries, or the aliens, maybe? To show the Garrison. But he found that he didn’t want to. Instead his thoughts were drawn to Earth. He scribbled some trees. Clouds. A river. He drew Matt’s dog, Bae Bae. The face of Keith started to appear on the page, although it didn’t really look like him. He tore a fresh page off the notebook and drew Keith’s knife.

Matt loved knives, too, but Matt had a whole collection of knives at home, whereas Keith only had one, and it was special to him.

There were footsteps outside the cell.

He barely had time to get to his feet before the door retracted. There was a clean-shaven Galra officer standing outside with several sentries. “Come out.”

Shiro wondered what it was this time. He’d already been to the cafeteria _and _to the training room for the day. The sentries surrounded him and the Galra officer was about to close the door of the cell when his eye lit on the notebook. He walked in and picked it up.

He could probably take the sentries. Shiro had never been so lightly guarded, but unfortunately common sense told him that now was not his moment.

He waited. The Galra glanced at him in the doorway with an unreadable expression, then back at the notebook. Then, finally, he ripped off the page with the drawing of Keith’s knife, and stuffed it in his pocket.

Shiro didn’t comment. _I wonder what that was all about?_

The officer came back out to the hall, and shut the cell door.

“Good news for you,” he said. “Lady Haggar, patroness of the Empire Championships, has paid us a visit from Emperor Zarkon’s main fleet. She wishes to sponsor you.”


	6. Patroness

Shiro and the Galra officer reached the door of a room several halls up, which opened automatically. He’d been expecting to see something rather dismal, as usual, or at least purple. But instead the carpet was sky-blue, the walls were a bright, springy yellow, and there were gold-trimmed furnishings, a grand king-sized bed and armoire. If it weren’t for the fact that the room had no windows he could have sworn he’d stepped right off the _Lapix_ into a spacious Victorian boudoir.

They stepped in awkwardly.

Inside this room was a woman who didn’t look like she belonged there at all. She was purple-skinned like the Galra, but there was something different about her. She had on a hooded purple cloak that covered her entire body, with wide, heavy sleeves. And her eyes… they were yellow, like the Galra, but they glowed in a way that the Galra’s didn’t. They seemed to stream yellow light. Below her eyes was a red stripe down each cheek, like tears of blood.

And on top of all that, she just had an unsettling presence, that he could only really compare to the time he’d seen Emperor Zarkon on the livestream.

He decided it would probably be good if he could avoid angering her.

“Congratulations on your victory, Champion Shiro.” Her voice scratched. She regarded him like some kind of curious and slightly underwhelming object. “I thought you’d be bigger.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Commander Thace, please leave us.”

“Of course, Lady Haggar.” Thace retreated and the door slid shut.

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “I don’t wish to intrude on your private quarters, madam. Not that you’ve given me much of a choice.”

She laughed drily. “These are not my quarters. These are yours. That is, should you choose to accept my sponsorship.”

“Is that so.” He glanced around warily. There was a faint breeze of fresh-smelling air, and a slightly-open side door that led to a dim but pretty bathroom with a private shower (certainly tempting). The bed had a thick comforter, and he was reminded how cramped and uncomfortable he’d been for the last eighteen days. There was a mirror on the armoire. Thanks to rank 3 privileges, he wasn’t too dirty, but his hair had seen better days. He supposed there were probably clean clothes in there, too.

“What’s the catch?”

“Ahaha, a clever one. Yes, there are conditions.” She paced around him without fear. “Are all of your kind like you? Or are you an extraordinary specimen? I must know.” Her eyes narrowed.

He narrowed his back.

“No, really. I _must _know. The condition is that you must cooperate with me. What are the coordinates of your planet?”

_Oh no. Here it comes. _

But he didn’t answer.

“I don’t really expect you to know that. You clearly come from an undiscovered planet, the vessel we captured was barely space-worthy. I’ll make it easier for you.”

She pulled back her sleeve to reveal a small wristband; once she had pressed a button on it, a hologram appeared in front of her. She waved a hand to enlarge it. It was a starmap.

“Just point it out.”

He could have laughed. He knew of this section of space – There was Alpha Centauri – but Earth wasn’t even on the map. It was somewhere off to the left. But he didn’t laugh, because he didn’t dare give anything away. He remained tight-lipped.

“In reality, my conditions are threefold. I require two other things besides cooperation. You must reach the first rank – but for a fighter like you, that should be no trouble at all. You’re already halfway there. And you must remain undefeated in the ring.”

But he’d made up his mind already. He did not like this woman, not at all. He’d resolved to keep from angering her, but not at the cost of Earth. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a hard pass. Too much fine print.”

She laughed again, quietly, from behind her hood. “Oh, but you misunderstand me, Shiro. You can’t refuse my sponsorship. You can refuse privilege, but you’re mine either way.”

He found himself taking a fighting stance.

“Here are your two options. Cooperate with me. Be my champion, and you shall have anything that your heart desires. Glory. Comfort. Women.” She flicked her thin hands and the starmap disappeared.

“Refuse, and I have the power to make your life a living hell.” She raised her hand, and between her fingers, as if to show him what she was capable of, there arose a ball of black energy.

_Have you? _His mind flashed with rage. She was a sponsor to _this. _All of this. To the fights. To the deaths in the ring. And now she was threatening him.

Shiro’s constant self-talk about patience and focus was a check on his most instinctive traits. But sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

“I’m not shackled, you _bitch._” He took a swing.

And Haggar _vanished, _in a puff of black vapor. Her cackling laugh echoed loudly in the bedchamber.

He stumbled, but recovered his feet.

_Bitch _had been a letter off. Who was this woman? What kind of dark powers did she have?

Her voice sounded from behind him.

“Well, well, well. Attacking a lady? For shame, Shiro, for shame.”

He spun around.

She was there, standing still. “It’s not going to be that easy. Nice try, though.” She kept laughing.

Shiro seethed.

“I’ll take that as a _no, _then.” She smirked under the hood. “I see how it is.” She stepped back, and the door slid open. “One last thing. The starmap I showed you was just a test. A bare minimum of research tells me that there is only one habitable planet in system X-9-1. The actual information I want is more nuanced.” She smiled humorlessly. “We shall talk again later.”


	7. The Herdazian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little ahead so I think I can post an update every couple of days. Be sure to check back.

The only thing that changed immediately was that he went back to the main cellblock. He had a number now, and it was twenty-seven. Shiro studied the cellblocks until he thought he had taught himself to read Galra numerals.

There were no more privileges. But at least he wasn’t so isolated anymore, and there were still lunches. Even though the cell was small, and afforded little privacy, at least he could still stretch and try to stay limber. There were only a couple more days until the fight. Thankfully, the witch didn’t come back. He knew she was high-ranking, and was probably busy. But unfortunately, there was no way she’d forgotten about him. She was probably planning something.

_We’ll talk later. _

It was a dark thought, and he tried to keep off it. He was going to _escape._

But when? He’d come to the realization that the sentries could unlock doors. If he could take down a sentry during his escape, he might be able to use one of them as a key. A large, very unwieldy key that would slow him way down.

Still, it was an idea.

In the lunch line, what was being served was some kind of vegetable like a blue carrot and a pile of mash that looked like potato but tasted like meat. There was a small alien in front of him in the line that looked like a kind of cross between a blue teddy bear and a snail. It could barely hold the tray high enough to get a glop of the mash.

Just as it was starting to walk away, a taller dinosaur-like alien, already sitting at one of the tables, made a move. It swept out its prehensile tail and in one move, tripped the snail and grabbed the tray.

The little creature (very cute, actually) just lay on the ground on its face for a couple of seconds. Shiro was so distracted he didn’t even realize he was holding up the line until the heavy Galran cafeteria worker coughed.

Shiro quickly went over to the little thing, handling his own tray out of the way. He knelt briefly to see if it was okay. It was crying. He reached for it, but when it saw him it only shrank back and cried harder.

He stood up. The dinosaur was sitting at a table with his buddies.

“Hey. Give that back,” said Shiro.

The alien turned its head and he could see its absolutely enormous mouth filled with sharp teeth. “You talkin’ to me?”

“Yes.”

“What was that now?”

“I said give his lunch back.”

“Sure thing. I’ll give you what I got left.” And he spit a glob of the mash into Shiro’s face.

The alien stood up from the bench as Shiro stood, stunned. The mash slid onto the floor. Everybody in the cafeteria was looking at them now.

The Galra guard had taken notice as well. His hand went to his blaster. “Hey now, save it for the ring.”

There was a tense pause, and then the dinosaur-like alien sat back down slowly. Shiro went back to the snail, who was sitting up now. “Hey there buddy. It’s okay. You can have mine.”

“R…really?”

“Yeah. Come on.” He reached out a hand to help the little creature to its feet, but instead the alien leapt for him and clung to him in a squishy little hug. Shiro froze, startled.

“Thank you, Mister Champion!”

“Ahaha. You can call me Shiro.”

“You can call me Yoo! I’m an Erusian.”

“Okay, Yoo… y… Yoo can let go now.”

Yoo dropped to the ground. He followed Shiro over to the empty table where would have usually sat by himself. And, availing himself well of the offer, promptly scarfed all of Shiro’s food.

He was just glad to have company. But as he looked over the Erusian, about two and a half feet tall, with his tiny hands, he couldn’t help feeling unhappy.

“They’re going to make you fight?” His voice wavered.

“My tribe fierce warriors,” said Yoo between bites. “Lion Goddess will protect me.”

“But—”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe judge too weak.” Yoo downed the last of the mash.

He certainly hoped so. The thought of this little creature in the ring troubled him.

“Hi.” He jumped.

Standing behind him was the Herdazian. He was sure he recognized her, but she looked different. Her skin was ashy gray, and her hair was gray too. In fact, it looked thin and patchy, whereas before it had been full and thick. She was looking at him with a gaze so intense he felt it would burn his skin off.

“Oh… hi.”

“Can… can I sit here?”

He nodded. She looked just about as though if she didn’t, she’d keel right over and die.

“That was a nice thing for you to do there.”

“…thanks.”

“Thanks,” said Yoo.

“Not you,” she said to the Erusian. “Him.”

“I am Yoo.”

The absolutely _done _look on her face almost made Shiro laugh. “Okay,” she said. “For the moment, Yoo, please assume that I am talking to Shiro.”

Yoo gave her a very cross face, but when she reached across the table and patted him on the head, he smiled again.

“They told me you were too dangerous to approach. But you’re not really like that, are you?”

“I certainly hope not.”

She laughed then, and her face seemed a little brighter. “I’m sorry for staring,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I can’t help it.”

Again, he couldn’t help wondering what had happened to her in the five days since her arrival. There was some kind of gray dust falling off her hands. It didn’t look healthy at all. And besides that, she had dark circles under her eyes. But he didn’t inquire. “I know,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I just want to be friends. If you don’t mind.” She shrank, embarrassed.

“Sure. What’s your name?”

“I am called Nyelle.”

“Nice to meet you, Nyelle.” He smiled and held out a hand. She didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

“Sorry. Earth custom. You grab it and shake it.”

She reached out timidly and grabbed his fingers, then shook them side to side. His smile widened. This was getting to be a good day. He’d started it off alone, now he had two whole friends.

“They all saw that. Maybe they’ll think better of you now.”

“Probably not. They all saw me fight Myzax, too.”

“I heard about that.” She lowered her eyes, troubled.

He blinked. “What’s the matter?” He meant that in any way she wanted to answer it. He didn’t know if she was sick, or what, but it was mildly alarming. He had gray dust on his fingers from where she’d touched him.

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Well… I don’t blame you. I don’t either. But… pardon me for saying this… you don’t look well. Maybe they’ll excuse you. What’s your number?”

“635.”

“Oh. You got a while then.” He gave a half-smile. “Well, that’s good, right?”

She leaned her head on her hand, elbow on the table. “Yeah. But they wouldn’t excuse me anyway.”

“Why not?” 

“That’s… a long story.” Her eyes wavered.

“Well, we have one thing in common then.”

She still had tears in her eyes, but she smiled a little.


	8. Self-Defense

“Yum,” said Yoo the next day. They were having a white potato-like vegetable.

“I much prefer the Kokobo root,” said Nyelle. She looked marginally better today; the dark circles under her eyes had lightened, and her skin didn’t seem to be flaking as much. “It’s got a nice blue color.”

“I’m just glad to be eating today,” said Shiro.

Yoo was next to him with, fortunately, his own tray, and Nyelle was across.

Now that he was sitting with the two of them, Shiro noticed the other aliens weren’t giving him quite as wide a berth anymore.

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve been paying so much more attention to colors now, you know? More than I used to. Just a little bit of blue… or red… can mean everything when all you have is purple. The Galra’s interior design taste is a little one-note.”

“They do go a little overboard on the purple,” he admitted. “But food is food. I’ve got to keep up my strength, and so have you.” He meant it in reference to her illness, but she took it to mean the fights.

“I can’t fight,” she said again, looking distraught. “I don’t want to kill anyone in the ring.”

He tried to be encouraging. “It’s okay if you’re not a fighter. All you have to do is survive the first round, remember?” He had a sudden mental image of her body broken and bleeding on the sand, but barely alive. He winced and pushed it away. He wished he could protect her from that, but he couldn’t. In fact, he might not even be here anymore by the time her number was up.

“No,” she breathed. “You don’t understand. I can’t lose either. I _can’t_.”

“Well.” He struggled. “Then… you still don’t have to kill anyone. To win the first round.”

“And the second?”

“…I…” he knew. He really did. The same thing was on his mind. “Listen,” he said firmly, as if instructing a cadet. “You do what you have to. It’s not our fault. You know that. It’s the Galra’s fault for putting us in such a nasty situation.”

She had been staring at her hands on the table, she looked up a little doubtfully. “Are you sure about that?”

“Well… yeah! Of course I’m sure.” He felt pricked. “They put us in the ring. They force us to fight. It’s… it’s self-defense.”

“Yeah,” she said. She lifted her chin, and this time her voice was calm. “I know. I’m not against self-defense. I’ve killed someone in self-defense. But this is not that.”

“Well then, what is it?!” He didn’t mean to snap at her, but something about this conversation was making his heart rate skyrocket.

_Patience. Yields. Focus._

His lungs were constricting, he could barely get his breath.

_I cannot be having this conversation right now, I cannot, not today, stop talking to me stop stop STOP_

“If I hadn’t killed him, he would have killed me!” He was barely aware that he was raising his voice. “That’s self-defense, cut and dry!”

His eyes widened when he saw that she was cringing, and he immediately felt a stab of guilt. He slumped and looked away, relaxing his hands on the table.

Nyelle had tears in her eyes again, but that didn’t stop her from answering softly. “And what if he’s thinking the same thing?”

He just stared at her in exhausted horror. He’d never thought about it that way before.

“Can they just…” she choked. “…put two people together in the ring and suddenly it’s okay for us to kill each other?”

He gripped the table. “You don’t understand, you don’t understand what you’re doing to me! I have to fight again tomorrow!”

“I’m sorry,” Nyelle whispered. She hunched her shoulders, and her fingers picked at her arms.

Shiro closed his eyes. _Breathe in. Out._ He rubbed his hands together, thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand, as he always did to calm himself. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “I know you’re… right. And I didn’t mean to lose it.”

And the aliens in the room would have seen it, too. There was nothing more embarrassing than losing your cool in public.

“I’m just… under a lot of stress right now.”

Which was a selfish thing to say, of course. She was too. They all were.

“Sorry.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

But she was right. He still had a choice. If he wanted a choice of whether or not to fight, then he had to give the other person a choice of whether or not they wanted to fight.

“I see what you’re saying. Really. I’m still going to fight him, but… I can wait. Until he attacks me first. Which he will.”

Nyelle looked up, with hope in her eyes. “Really? That’s… that’s fair. I suppose.”

Yoo popped up from under the table. “You’re doing that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s dumb. Like letting your enemy go first in Cambloorian chess. You’re gonna die.”

“Thanks, Yoo.”

***

In the waiting room adjacent to the arena, Shiro sat, forced to witness the fight that came before his. He wasn’t the last person to go on today, but he wasn’t the first either. And they weren’t grouped like before, but taken out one at a time.

The noise was quieter today, and when he risked a look at the half-empty stands he confirmed that the audience was indeed much smaller. Early matches didn’t draw the same crowds.

Two of the lower weight-class aliens were fighting. It was their first round and they were matched within reason. He couldn’t help it, but he was at least mildly interested.

An anthropomorphic gecko fought a stickbug-like insect. They exchanged blows and slaps at close quarters. In the tournament, it seemed, they were more interested in a level playing field, and made sure that both of the combatants were fairly armed. In this case that meant neither of them were armed; they were going at it hand to hand, or rather, appendage to appendage.

At last the stickbug seemed to be tiring. The gecko pressed him back, but didn’t even need to take it all the way to the wall. He made a quick spin, and his tail took the insect across the legs. The insect collapsed, and the gecko pounced on him. There was a sharp crack; the sickening sound of splintering exoskeleton, and the stickbug screamed.

“AND THE WINNER IS… PARTHO FROM PLANET ERBES!”

The Gecko backed off, bowing. Sentries dragged the insect off the ring towards the other door.

“THIS CONCLUDES LEVEL ONE PLAYOFFS! BUT DON’T GO YET! WE HAVE A FEW MATCHES FROM LEVEL TWO TODAY! NEXT UP ARE TWO RETURNING COMPETITORS FROM LAST SEASON! REINTRODUCING… LAST MINUTE CHAMPION SHIRO! VERSUS! THE ACCOMPLISHED FIGHTER ARTAXERXES!”

This time, Shiro was let into the ring first. The grate retracted, and, without being prodded, he walked out slowly. He crouched. One of the sentries was approaching. It was holding a sword, the same sword he’d used in his first fight. But not pointed at him. This time it turned the weapon around as though _offering _the sword.

Oh.

He took it, and the sentry returned to the door and powered down.

The opposite gate opened.

And the gray dinosaur from the cafeteria stepped out.

He had the same sword they’d given Shiro—they were evenly armed. The two of them sized each other up.

Shiro’s emotions were, to say the least, conflicted. _This _was the creature he was supposed to give a fair chance to stand down? To whom he was supposed to yield the advantage? _Asshole._

And yet. Did he deserve to _die _for it? This was a creature he’d sat by for weeks in the cafeteria without doing or saying anything. They were, in a way, acquainted. And he was supposed to just kill him without asking questions.

The alien whipped his tail furiously, and his huge mouth split open in a gaping grin.

Shiro held his position. “ARTAXERXES!” he shouted, as loudly as possible, hoping his voice wouldn’t be swallowed up. “Wait.”

The creature lumbered towards him, only a narrowing of its eyes a possible acknowledgement.

“We don’t… have to fight.” It was a half-hearted proposition.

Still about fifty feet away, Artaxerxes threw back his large head and laughed raucously. “You are a coward,” he said. Then he charged.

Shiro had enough time to brace himself and throw up his sword in a defensive stance. However, though he had planted his feet, it was not enough. The alien’s superior size and bulk hit him like a train and threw him back at least ten feet, onto the ground.

Shiro knew what to do when knocked down in a fight; trained instincts took over. He was there only for a second, he rolled sideways and got to his feet, ignoring his bruises, all without taking his eyes off the enemy.

So. It was a fight, then.

It was clear that he couldn’t take the full force of the alien’s weight. That was a little unfamiliar to him strategically, he wasn’t used to being much lighter than his opponents.

The dinosaur didn’t give him a break, but went straight for him again. It was definitely faster than Myzax. This time he barely evaded. Artaxerxes pivoted and brought the sword towards Shiro in a broad sweep.

Shiro parried and caught the blade with his own. Both swords had the curved arc sticking out at the end, and they locked together with a clash. They both tugged, trying to get them apart again.

_Inconvenient. Who the hell designed this weapon?_

Finally Shiro managed to draw back far enough to yank his blade free. He raised it over his head and made for a downward swing. Artaxerxes reached up to block, and he seized the moment to do something like he had tried with Myzax. Instead of finishing the swing, he simply ducked under the alien’s arms and went around for his back.

But it was a mistake. He’d forgotten about the tail. That long, articulate, prehensile tail. Artaxerxes grabbed him with it in a moment, about the waist. He didn’t have enough strength in it to lift Shiro off the ground, but he shook him like a rag doll.

While he was still turning around, Shiro swept the sword downward and lopped the tail clean off. It let go of him immediately and went squirming across the ground like a snake. Artaxerxes roared with pain and lost his grip on his own sword.

_Now’s your chance. Kill him._

But something was holding him back.

_Quickly. Before he picks it up. Go in there. Finish it._

But he couldn’t. It was like he was frozen. _This isn’t self-defense._

He went for Artaxerxes’ sword instead. He kicked it away from them both, and then ran and picked it up. The alien had recovered somewhat. Shiro pointed both swords at him. “Surrender!”

Artaxerxes growled low in his throat. He glared at Shiro, his eyes filled with rage and pain. “That… not… how… this… works.” And then, unexpectedly, he pounced.

Shiro was completely blindsided. He had not expected to be tackled while holding both swords. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, and the alien was on top of him, its enormous bulk crushing him. He couldn’t see for sand in his face. He couldn’t _breathe. _

One of the swords was in his left hand, pinned across his face, and the only reason Artaxerxes didn’t bite his head off. The other had slashed the creature across the stomach, but was now stretched out in his right hand. He tried to bring it back up. Artaxerxes bit him.

The creature’s teeth sank deep into the flesh of his upper arm. Its jaw clamped down tightly. There was a horrible pressure.

But its neck was exposed. Crying out with pain and effort, he plunged the left sword into Artaxerxes’ neck. At the same moment, he heard the splintering _crack _of bone, loud in his own ears.

Shiro screamed. He only had one breath, but he put everything he had into it.

The alien went limp and rolled away, but he barely paid attention. He could breathe again, and he couldn’t seem to have enough air. He just lay there on his back, sucking in deep breaths. The pain from his arm radiated through his entire body and it. Wasn’t. Going. Away.

_You’re going into shock._

The announcer was saying something, but he couldn’t make it out. There was somebody moving in the sand nearby. He tried to remember what was going on. Sentries. Of course.

He realized quickly that he couldn’t get up. Not without moving his arm. Feeling totally helpless, he lay still and squeezed his eyes shut. He only cracked an eyelid when one of the sentries was standing over him on his left.

But it wasn’t a sentry. It was a Galra. The Galra stooped down and jabbed something into his left arm. Then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well then. Had to save the notes for the end but as you can see I really wanted to get some delightful moral dilemmas in there. As far as I know the only literary work to explore this specific type of situation is the Hunger Games, and it wasn’t really as nuanced as I would have liked. It disappoints me that most works won't really explore the line between "murder" and "self-defense", because I find that distinction highly important.


	9. Dark Healing

“Broken? How inconvenient.”

Through a semi-conscious haze, his brain was a little slow to interpret the words, but he recognized the voice immediately. That enunciated rasp was very distinctive.

_Haggar._

That woke him up. He forced his eyes to open. He was lying down, at least, he thought so. All he could see was the ceiling, and rows of hexagonal tiles. His head swam. His arm still throbbed, but now with more of a deep, hot ache.

There was the omnipresent violet light, coming from some kind of spotlight overhead, bright enough to be nearly white, but angled slightly away from his face. He… he felt a faint breeze. He hadn’t got a shirt.

Also, he was restrained. There was something holding down his left wrist and his feet. The realization made his heart speed in alarm, and he tried to sit up. The pressure on his right shoulder shifted his arm, however, causing pain to shoot up and down from shoulder to fingertips. He froze.

Of course, his right arm was free, but it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t move it. The fingers moved slightly, but the elbow wouldn’t move even a little bit. He’d really taken a hit back there.

“My lady,” said a voice. “The ship’s surgeon says that it will be nearly two months before he regains its full strength.”

“That is unacceptable. My champion must be able to fight.” Following the sound, he could see Haggar standing nearby, on his right, but she was facing away from him speaking to a Galran.

“He also says that your magics are not recommended for this case. They can speed the healing process, but they might also cause infection to develop rapidly. The mouth of an Arcturian Razog contains over 650 distinct strains of bacteria.”

_Well, that’s not great._

Although, unless he was very much mistaken, it sounded like she wanted to _heal _him. Well, that was better than the alternative.

“Impudence! Does he think he knows more about biochemistry than me? I won’t touch the flesh wound. Just the bone.”

Haggar turned back around to him and he saw her face, furrowed in concentration. She stretched out a hand, and the dark magic swirled between her fingers. He had enough time to feel a stab of fear and then she pressed it into the wound, right at the spot of the break.

It sped things up, all right. He felt the bone shift back into lock. He couldn’t help it; he screamed again. But she kept her hand on him. His arm swelled in moments, turning bright red and mottled. Just at the moment when it was too much and he felt like it was going to explode, it mercifully shrank again. Bruises bloomed across his skin, from red, to purple to yellow, and then slowly disappeared. She continued touching him, concentrating. The pain gradually faded.

He’d just been forced through every stage of the healing process in under three minutes.

She withdrew, looking self-satisfied. “It is healed,” she said. “You may leave us.”

The Galran doctor nodded and left the room.

His arm _was_ healed. It _was_. He flexed his fingers, relieved to find that they still worked. Unfortunately, the moment he went to test his elbow, a purple energy cuff slid over his wrist. _Damn._

He became more nervous, now that he was alone with Haggar, and not at all sure of her intentions. She must have noticed the look of bewilderment on his face at being healed, for she smiled at him in what could have been mistaken for benevolence.

“I am pleased with you for killing the Arcturian,” she said. “I have decided to reward you.”

“No…” he mumbled, half to himself.

She tilted her head. “No?”

“Don’t reward me for that.”

“You don’t like that?”

“No.”

“Interesting.” She blinked slowly, like a cat. “Regardless. I see that you are well on your way to meeting my first two conditions. Have you changed your mind about the third one?”

He set his teeth together. “I have not.”

“Hmm. Well, let me tell you what I’ve decided. Since I’m so pleased that you’ve met some of my conditions, I’m going to show you what you can have if you cooperate. You will have…” she drummed her sharp fingernails on the table that he was lying on. “Four days. It will be one last chance for you to change your mind. I am a patient woman, but that is, unfortunately, as far as my patience extends.”

She drew back and walked towards the door. “If, at that point, you still do not cooperate, you may consider the last few hours a kind of free sample.” She smirked and placed her hand on the keypad.

The door slid open. The last he saw of her was a twitch of her finger as she beckoned, and then she was replaced in the doorway with the Galran doctor.

He made his way up to Shiro’s side. There was a grating sound as he pulled up a stool. “You still have some bite wounds,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve got… I’ve got to clean them. This might hurt a little bit. Sorry.”

In a sudden flash of insight, he realized that the doctor’s position was nearly as unenviable as his own. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

He could see the hope and absolute relief in the Galran’s eyes. “Thanks.”

The doctor began to swab Shiro’s arm with a damp white cloth. It wasn’t water—it was some kind of antiseptic, and as it dripped into his wounds they lit up again as though fresh. He inhaled sharply.

“Sorry,” said the Galra.

“No—it’s—” he cut off, finishing instead with something that sounded like “mm-m”.

“Sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haggar's healing powers were inspired by IcyPanther's fic "As Color Fades Away". I did modify/elaborate slightly on them to suit my purposes.


	10. Privilege

Once the Galran doctor had finished bandaging up Shiro’s wound, he was removed from the medical bay.

And taken to a familiar cell.

He recognized it even before the door opened. “Why are we here?” He asked the guard.

“She said to take you to the champion’s cell,” the Galra said grudgingly. “She wants to spoil you, I guess. Don’t ask me why.”

And the door opened, revealing the golden interior of the boudoir.

As soon as he was inside the energy cuffs dissolved. He looked around—in the bathroom, in the closet, under the bed. It took him a while to accept that he was alone. Last time he was here, Haggar had been here. He almost expected her to manifest in a puff of black vapor. But she did not.

He couldn’t shake off a state of confusion and disorientation. He felt reluctant to move his arm, as though it should still be broken. Eventually he just laid down on the bed and slept for hours.

When he woke up, he was relatively clear-headed, and thinking more analytically. The worst dirt and blood had been cleaned off him but he was still sweaty from the fight with Artaxerxes, so he availed himself of the hot shower. There was scented shampoo.

In his inspection of the room, he first came to the armoire. There he found several clean purple shirts that were in much better condition than the one he had been wearing before. He put one on immediately. He supposed the other clothing in there was considered fashionable and dignified to Galra males, but he wasn’t used to wearing skirts or robes, so he didn’t bother with them.

He hadn’t even given Haggar any information, and he couldn’t help wondering why she was being so generous. Soon he stopped wondering, because the answer was clear. Without any other discomforts to distract him, waiting was the main thing on his mind. It was worse than expecting an unpleasant dentists’ appointment. He had no idea what was coming, but plenty of time to imagine it.

On the night-stand was a little gold-colored box, inlaid with sparkling shells. When he opened it he found little candies wrapped in silver foil. He tried to eat one, and he should have liked it, but it tasted like ash in his mouth.

It wasn’t until it was time to go to the cafeteria, however, that he discovered the extent of Haggar’s psychological warfare.

Two Galra guards showed up to escort him as usual. One of them was familiar: not Thace but an apparent favorite of Haggar’s named Quello. When he saw Shiro wearing the standard prisoner’s uniform with a purple shirt, he smirked.

“Really? Haggar’s champion and you’re going to show up wearing that?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Haggar wants you to pick something nice.”

He scowled deeply at Quello, but realized that if he refused he would not be able to go. And he needed to go. Finally he selected a longer checked shirt with deep pockets, that buttoned up the front. It was the only thing he could find that wasn’t ostentatious and remotely suited his taste.

When he arrived at the cafeteria, Quello threw open the doors grandly. “Make way for Haggar’s champion!”

Everyone looked. The shirt may not have been ostentatious, but it wasn’t the prisoner’s uniform, and that was enough. He could feel their stares, this time not scared, but disgusted. He knew what they were thinking.

They were thinking he must have made nice with Haggar. How else could a person get this kind of treatment?

He felt like shrinking in shame. That would certainly only confirm his guilt in their minds. Regardless, he could feel his face burning as he made his way to the line and picked up a tray. They gave him more food than usual, and definitely more than everybody else.

Finally he went back to the table. Nyelle and Yoo were already there. They, at least, didn’t move out of the way.

“You made it!” said Nyelle. “The fight! Are you… okay?”

He was immensely relieved that she didn’t comment on the clothes first.

“Yes. Well, I did win. I…” this shouldn’t upset him as much. “I had to kill him, though.”

She nodded. She was looking a little warmer-toned today, and her hair was smooth, if still gray.

“No, really. I had to. I tried to give him a chance but he didn’t listen. Please. You have to believe me.”

“Shiro,” she said, placing her hands across the table to touch his, and giving him that distinctive intense gaze. “Of course I believe you.”

“Oh.” He closed his eyes. “Thank God. I think everybody else here thinks… thinks I…”

“Who cares what they think? They’re wrong. If they knew you as a person they wouldn’t think that.”

“Thanks.” With his eyes on the table, he couldn’t help but notice the food tray. Maybe he should actually eat. He picked up the spork and scooped the extra off onto Yoo’s plate. The Erusian didn’t comment but shoveled it into his mouth.

“Oh.” He remembered. “One more thing.” He reached into his deep pocket and drew out the candy box. He’d swept it off the table into his pocket when Quello wasn’t looking. “I don’t know if this is a gift or a loan, but either way, I figured you might like it.”

“Oh!” Her eyes grew, if possible, even wider. He could swear her skin brightened as he watched. She felt the box all over with her fingers, and opened it up and inspected it inside and out. She was smiling so hard it looked like her face would break. It was, he realized, the first time he’d seen her smile at all.

He’d never really thought of himself as the type of guy who would be into alien chicks, but he was currently experiencing a moment of doubt.

“It’s lovely,” she said. She took out one of the little hard candies and gently tugged open the silver wrapper. “Have you… had one?”

“Oh yes.”

“Did you like them?”

He shrugged. “They’re okay, I guess.”

“What you got there?”

Shiro and Nyelle both started. A lanky blue alien had come up behind the Herdazian’s shoulder. He had four long arms, and wide, upturned nostrils on a round head.

“Candy,” said Nyelle. “Do you want one?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Nyelle handed the candy back over her shoulder with a light smile but a barely perceptible eyeroll. “Shiro, this is my cell neighbor Borix.”

“What’s with the clothes?” The blue alien asked loudly, around the candy.

“Borix!” Nyelle scolded.

Shiro mumbled his answer through a bite of mash.

“What’s that?”

Maybe she was right. Maybe they wouldn’t judge him if they knew the truth. He swallowed, paused, and looked the alien in the eye. “Haggar made me wear them.”

“What? Why?” Borix’s face twisted in confusion.

“I think she’s trying to embarrass me.” And it was working.

“Why?”

Nyelle intervened again. “Borix, _stop _asking questions. It’s rude. I’m sorry, Shiro, he doesn’t understand etiquette.”

“It’s fine.” This last question had actually made him stop and think, and that was good. “It’s because… she wants to control me. She wants to… isolate me from everyone else. I told her I didn’t want to be her champion. But she’s trying to force it on me anyways.” Saying it out loud had actually helped, he felt. She had a little less power over him now.

“Wow, that’s messed up, man,” said the blue alien.

“Yeah, it is.” The validation of a complete stranger also felt surprisingly good.

“So,” said Nyelle to the alien awkwardly hovering about her shoulder. “Are you going to sit down?”

“Nah.”


	11. Tales from the Hexod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit that Nyelle's character was part of an original fiction idea that I had, but wasn't able to find a place or story for until this fic.  
As for this chapter, it is one of the most fanfiction-y things I have ever written, but seeing as how it's fanfiction, I will cut myself a break. Enjoy :)  
One last note: don't worry, this is a Christian minecraft server

It was the evening of the fourth day.

Shiro was worried that even after all that, his wound had still managed to get infected. It had flushed red again and had started itching and prickling. He rinsed it carefully and had replaced the bandage but that didn’t seem to be enough.

He’d been hoping to see Nyelle again today at lunch, but it was just Yoo. Last time she’d been absent was when she’d come back with gray skin, and he was mildly concerned. Besides that, though, he’d also been hoping to see her one last time before… before he saw Haggar again.

Maybe she would have something to say about it. Yes, he’d strongly considered telling her his predicament. Where he’d come from, and what it was that Haggar wanted from him. If anyone could say something that might make him stronger, it would be her. And he needed that.

But she didn’t show.

He took to pacing back and forth, more hurriedly than ever. Escape, right? Why couldn’t he escape? Because he didn’t know how to get to the hangars? No matter, he could find them on the way. There must be something in this room he could use as a weapon. Like what? Maybe if he could get the shower curtain rod down…

Overpower the guards when they came to the door, (somehow not getting shot) and then… get stuck in the first locked section of the hallway. It had some kind of tech interface.

So, wait until they opened that before attacking.

But he couldn’t sneak a shower curtain rod into the hallway. And he’d have the energy cuffs on by that point.

He was still scouring the room for ideas when there was a noise outside the door.

_Oh no, they’re here. They’re early._

He jumped to his feet. The door slid open. There was just one Galra officer, and somebody else.

“Haggar has sent you a gift,” said the Galra. He shoved her over the threshold, and the door chunked shut.

Nyelle staggered back against the door. She took heavy breaths, and sized up the room with a vaguely frightened expression. She was shackled hand and foot. She was also wearing something that was _definitely _not the standard prison uniform.

Her wide eyes settled on him.

He slapped a hand across his face. Of course he wanted to see her. But not like _this_. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered, turning red.

“…Shiro? It’s… you.”

He groaned in embarrassment and bumped his forehead on the wall. “Haggar. She’s _mocking_ me.”

Having come to the conclusion that she was not in immediate danger, Nyelle straightened, slightly more at ease. “Do you think she noticed the candy box?” she asked drily.

“Wow I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. They didn’t tell me…” she frowned. “Who I was going to see.”

“Damn.” It was an expression of surprise. He still felt guilty and embarrassed, and it was clear she was also flustered, but was getting over it more quickly than he was.

“At least it wasn’t… it wasn’t… somebody else.” she trailed off.

“Don’t worry about that. You’re safe here,” he said, although, he knew that Haggar was conveying another message as well: she had power over not only him, but anyone that he interacted with.

“Nice place you got here.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh… yeah.” He was at a loss, not really sure what to say in this situation.

“I like the yellow and blue. It’s different.” She was different, too. She was much more well than when he’d last seen her. Her skin had returned to its soft gold hue, and even her hair had gone back to gold. There were only a few patches where he could tell it was still thin.

She sank to her knees to examine the furniture. “The scrollwork on this cabinet, that’s lovely. Look, little leaves carved into the wood. Did you notice that?” She ran her fingers over it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“No, I… I didn’t.” It was mildly amusing that she was so quickly absorbed by something that he found rather mundane.

“I know, that probably seems silly. Maybe it is. But…” she stood up, and the metamorphosis that had come over her even since entering the room was astonishing. She’d surpassed her initial state on arrival at the Lapix. She seemed almost to _glow_ with a physical light.

“I’m all right now. But you’ve been so concerned, I should at least explain. I have to tell you.” She looked down again. “My people take beauty for sustenance. As you might expect, Herdase is renowned for its beauty. It has lovely pink skies, and trees with leaves of pure white. Our buildings are lovely as well. People come from all over the universe to see them. Other cultures have started with functionality as a base for their architecture, and worked around it. For Herdazians, beauty _is _functionality.”

She paused. “That’s not to say that we can’t have different tastes. We’ve had wars over taste. They say that a Herdazian would rather take a bullet than wear a badly coordinated outfit. That’s hyperbole, of course.” She smirked. “We’re not like that. Mostly.”

“Clearly not.”

“Oh. Hahaha. Oh, this.” She looked down at herself.

“I’ve got some long shirts in here if you want one.” He opened the armoire.

“Oh, thanks. That’s very kind.” After Nyelle had thrown a large red flannel over her shoulders, she sat down cross legged on the floor. Unfortunately, due to the shackles, she couldn’t get her arms into the sleeves.

“Earth is beautiful too,” said Shiro, and for the first time since his drawings, he really pictured it. “The skies are blue, and the trees are green. We have… blue oceans, too. More than half the planet is water. I bet you’d like it.” Saying it out loud made him feel homesick, too. He thought he’d curbed all those messy emotions more or less on the Kerberos mission, but back then he’d had an exact timeline on his return. Now he couldn’t help feeling wistful.

“That does sound lovely,” she said. “I do wish I could see it.” But she sounded still troubled. “I’d like to hear more about it.”

“Well, it’s…” what could he say? Earth was most everything he’d ever known. Where did one start?

“Wait,” she said.

He stopped.

“Sorry. It’s not that I’m not interested. And I’m not trying to fill the air talking about myself. But… I have to finish.” She gulped, nervous again.

“Okay…” she was acting very strange, but he waited.

She moved her hair behind her ear with her fingers. “My planet was conquered by the Galra. Some of us were permitted to stay and farm. Many of us, especially those who expressed sentiments against Zarkon, were enslaved and sent to labor colonies. I was sent to the Hexod.”

“The Hexod is a labor camp for mining and mineral processing. It is located deep inside of an asteroid.” He could see a tremor go through her as she shuddered involuntarily. “Every day, people would do nothing except chip black ore out of gray rocks. Another worker would take the ore that had been broken up and shovel it onto a conveyor belt. My job was spreading out the chips of ore on the belt as they moved into a furnace.”

He was sorry that happened, of course, but he wasn’t really sure where she was going with this.

“Some of the other people tolerated it somehow. I couldn’t. I don’t know how you could understand unless you’ve been a Herdazian. It was dim, nearly dark. Always. I could barely see the ore. All I could see was the light from the furnace. It wasn’t a pretty light, not objectively. But to me… it saved my life. Sort of. It kept me alive long enough to… to try to escape.”

Now he was listening. Shiro leaned forward intently.

But Nyelle once again veered the story in a direction he was not expecting. “It was a slave revolt,” she said. “There were over thirty people involved just in planning. I wouldn’t have come up with it myself. I was too depleted. But some other prisoners got me involved. They’d found and saved up some gems and rocks. And matches and light. I burned them at night after curfew and drew on the walls of my bunk. It took weeks, but I built up some stamina. I killed one of the guards. We made it to the surface.”

She said all that very matter-of-factly, like it was something that had happened to someone else.

“What happened then?” asked Shiro, knowing the answer.

“Zarkon sent in reinforcements. We had no way of getting off the asteroid. They recaptured all of us. Some of the ringleaders were executed. And my sentence was…” she struggled.

“To be sent here,” he finished for her.

“They said that if I wanted to fight that badly, I could fight in the ring.”

He hid his dark look, so that she would know it was not for her.

“That’s why I can’t lose. I can’t go back. If I go back to the Hexod I’ll _die, _Shiro.”

She wrung her hands in distress, and he, sitting on the floor next to her, took her smaller hands warmly. “No. You won’t go back there.”

“But… but I…” tears welled up in her eyes.

“What is your number?”

“Six hundred and one.”

“There’s still time to come up with a plan.” He gave her hands a squeeze and let go. “Can I ask you a question though?”

“Yeah. I… I guess.”

“What happened _after _you got here?”

“They wanted to punish me for killing one of the Galra. They… they left me totally in the dark. For… for five days.”

The amount of time she’d been missing. It checked out. This time he couldn’t hide his anger. “_No_.” He stood up, not really sure what he was doing.

She nodded. “Shiro, I’m sorry.” She was crying into her hands again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” He had paced to the wall, now he paced back again. “You didn’t do anything. They did all this stuff to you. Anyone would be upset.”

“That’s not it. That’s not it. I’m so sorry. I was about to do an ugly thing.”

He stopped, halfway to the wall again. “What do you mean?”

“Haggar. She said that if I could get you to talk about… about your planet.”

_What? _His jaw dropped.

“Its population. Its resources. And especially… what kind of defenses it has. That she would be… _listening…”_

_No. _Shiro tensed. He looked at the ceiling reflexively, as though he could spy Haggar’s listening device.

“And if I could… could get you, well, I didn’t know it was _you, _but the person in this cell, to talk then… then she would set me free.”

He had come so close. _So close. _He had been about to spill as much as she wanted about Earth, and he would have and almost _did_. If Nyelle hadn’t stopped him.

He sank down onto the edge of the bed, with his head in his hands. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“For not doing that.”

“I… I wanted to. I’m sorry. But when I saw that it was you, I just couldn’t.”

He walked over to her, and reached down until she gave him, hesitantly, her hand. Then he pulled her up to her feet.

_Haggar is listening._

He put his arms around her carefully, and she accepted it. “It’s okay,” he said out loud. And then, more urgently, he put his face close to her ear. “When I escape,” he whispered. “I’ll take you with me.”

She twitched in his arms. “What?”

He knew that it would be harder that way, but at that moment, he knew that he _had _to. She had thrown away her chance at freedom for him and for his planet. He had no other choice.

“You’re coming with me. I promise.”

It was only moments later that the door slid upward with a sucking noise and a breath of cold air. Shiro and Nyelle dropped each other. Haggar stood in the center, flanked by two Galra guards.

“Well, well. You two seem to be having a good time,” she said nastily. “My apologies for the interruption.”

Shiro placed himself in front of Nyelle. “What do you want?”

“My patience has expired.”


	12. This Kind

_It’s time. _He’d planned to escape before this. But he wasn’t going to let her take him anywhere without a fight.

Haggar threw up a hand and yanked Nyelle forward as though with an invisible tractor beam. At the last moment she sidestepped and let her be thrown out into the hall. The Galran soldiers caught her there.

“Take her away,” said Haggar. “I shall deal with my champion myself.” She stepped over the threshold, and his vision was wrapped in darkness.

It was everywhere. He could see nothing, not even the ground that he was standing on. Yet he could see Haggar. She and he were perfectly lit, from some invisible light source. This could only be her magic.

She chuckled menacingly.

What use was there fighting her inside her own world? But he fought anyway. He lunged for the witch. Just as he reached her, she vanished. She reappeared some distance further back, but he pursued through the sea of supernatural darkness.

This time she reappeared a ways off to the side. What was she up to? He knew he couldn’t catch up to her, so he walked more slowly.

“What are you doing, witch?”

Before he’d covered even half the distance, she appeared again, much closer, with a laugh. He swung his fist for her again, but she simply leaped back, as though floating.

This happened three more times, before he stopped. “This isn’t a fight. I don’t understand, witch. What are you trying to accomplish?”

She cackled. “Almost there. Just turn around.”

She vanished again, and appeared directly behind him. He swiveled to face her.

“Perfect.”

He scarcely had a chance to wonder what she meant before the darkness lifted. There was a flood of purple light, and at the same time, an intangible _push_ of force from Haggar’s direction. He stumbled backwards and fell into a chair.

He was no longer in the champion’s cell, but in, perhaps, an interrogation room, empty except the chair. Energy cuffs materialized over his wrists and ankles, trapping him. He struggled but they held fast.

“Got him,” grinned a large, furry-eared male Galra. “Great work, my Lady.”

“Thank you, Sendak,” Haggar smirked.

Shiro had never met Commander Sendak, captain of the _Lapix_. But now he knew something about him; and about Haggar as well. He knew what kind of people they were. He’d encountered these types before, mostly during his time in the Academy, though he had never been the target himself. People who laughed at others’ pain. People who used status as an opportunity to make themselves feel powerful.

_Bullies._

_ That’s all they really are. Bullies. And you’re a soldier of the Galaxy Garrison. _

It made him feel a little bolder.

“Now then,” Haggar said, standing a few paces back, half-covered by a shadow. “Let’s start with something easy. Full name.”

He just glared at her.

“Come now. You are not stupid, I believe. There is no need for you to resist me on something so trivial.”

He hated to admit it, but he couldn’t argue with that. “Takashi Shirogane.”

“Good. Age.”

“Twenty-four.”

“Oh, that’s precious,” remarked Sendak from behind his shoulder.

“What was your purpose on the moon of X-9-1’s ninth planet?”

“Scientific research.”

Shiro would have been a fool if he hadn’t given any thought, before this point, about what kind of information might be dangerous to let on. But along with that came an intricate web of information that Haggar and the Galra had already doubtless knew or gleaned. To contradict something they knew would only draw attention to lies or evasiveness.

“What kind of scientific research?”

And this was where he had drawn the line. He had no wish to discuss the Garrison, the mission, technology, or anything about Earth’s contact with aliens (or lack thereof). He couldn’t discuss Earth’s defenses. He couldn’t say anything that would make Earth look weak or attractive. He was dealing with an intelligent opponent, he could count on her to drain every last inference from every single one of his words. That meant that to be on the safe side, he had to keep those words to an absolute minimum.

Haggar spread her fingers and the black orb of dark energy appeared again. “Tell me. What kind of scientific research? I will know if you lie.”

He wasn’t really sure if he believed her or not, but it didn’t matter. He kept his mouth shut.

“Sendak.”

The Galra dealt him a swift blow across the head. Pain exploded in his skull, Shiro’s ears rang and his jaw popped.

“Come now, my champion. It’s a simple question. Your ship was captured. I know about the ice cores. I suspect your purposes were rather mundane. It can’t be that important.”

He had managed to straighten out his jaw. He licked his lips. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

“Touché. It’s really not. Let us not quibble over it. Soon you shall be begging me to be pacified with such irrelevant details.” She stepped a little closer, out of the shadow.

_She’s just… a bully. _But that had stopped making him feel better. He’d been able to picture them as petty children, and maybe on some level, they were. But this was also not the Academy and there were no teachers around to break things up.

“Tell me about Earth’s military forces. I believe you work for them. I want to know what kind of shields they have. What is the size of their fleet? How many fighting ships do they have?”

_None, small, and not enough._

In actual fact, the Garrison’s fighting ships had been designed with purely local politics in mind; it was assumed that the first space battles would be against other humans. The Garrison had the largest fleet of spacefaring vehicles on earth, which was looking at this time like a rather pitiful qualifier.

“Sendak?”

Sendak’s huge, furred fist came for him again. He did his best to roll with it this time, but it still hurt and left him temporarily stunned. Tiny yellow lights danced in his vision. _This guy is gonna kill me._

“Earth’s shields, champion. What kind?”

_Absolutely not._

And Sendak hit him from the other side. His head snapped back, and he grunted. That crazy headache was back. Did he have a concussion… again?

“How many fighting ships?” Haggar rasped.

He sighed in resignation, knowing what was coming next.

And so it went, back and forth, Haggar and then Sendak. One, two, three more times, until he honestly wondered how much more he could take until Sendak knocked him unconscious. His brain felt like scrambled eggs and his face felt like a mass of bruises. He could taste blood.

Finally, however, Haggar turned around. “That’s enough for now, Sendak,” she said.

Oh, thank God.

“It’s getting late, and I’m going to get some sleep.” She walked towards the door. “I’d advise you do the same.”

Sendak nodded and lumbered out.

Oh, right. Time was still hard to tell in space, but he knew that it had been evening when this all started. He had thought he was going to at least get the fourth night in the champion’s cell, but apparently the first night counted for one.

She must have seen his shoulders slump in relief, for she smirked again and gestured to him. “Not _you_.”


	13. The Blade

The Blade of Marmora headquarters was a shard of rock that hung between two black holes, protected in the metaphorical shadow of a blue star.

From the outside, it looked like an ordinary asteroid, albeit nearly inaccessible. On the inside, it was something else entirely.

Commander Thace descended on a wide platform elevator, dozens of feet through the rock. Blue lights rose past him along the walls. He was one of the Blade of Marmora’s most valuable officers, since his position was so close to Haggar. Few others were as likely to be summoned by the druid, and none except him were trustworthy. It allowed him to get information that few other Blades had access to.

The door at the bottom of the elevator shaft slid open and Thace entered the main hall. While the construction of the Blade of Marmora base was of a familiar Galra design, it was lit in blue instead of purple. The Blades met in hushed groups or sparred with one another in the wings. Blue light reflected off Thace’s armor as he strode past the other rebel Galra and made his way to the platform at the head of the room.

“Ulaz.”

The senior operative looked up from studying the plans laid out in front of him. “Thace. You’re early.”

“Indeed, sir. I have just returned from accompanying Haggar to Sendak’s slave ship. Afterwards I requested a short leave and returned to speak to you as quickly as I could. I bring news you may find of interest.”

“Is that so?”

“Haggar asked me to retrieve a prisoner for her. He was from one of the outer systems, sir, a planet called ‘Earth’ about which little is known. She wished to interrogate him, I believe. He had recently slain her previous champion.”

“Wait.” Ulaz’s eyes narrowed in his pale face. “Are you speaking of the surprise champion from the end of last season?”

“I did not know that you watched the Empire Championships, sir.”

“Of course I don’t, Thace. You know me better than that. But people do talk.”

“I see. My apologies, sir. I went to his cell. When I opened it I saw that he had paper, and he had drawn one of our blades.”

“One of the Blades?”

“_A_ blade. A knife, sir. With the symbol of Marmora on it. It was a signal to me. I know it.”

Ulaz stood. He was a good head taller than Thace, and towered over the Commander. “Wait. So you think that this Earthling somehow has insider knowledge of the Blades, knew you were with us, and was trying to signal that to you?”

“Yes, sir.” Thace nodded.

“Did he draw anything else?”

“Yes, sir. Plants. Other Earthlings.”

Ulaz shook his head. “Are you sure? It’s such a small thing to take a risk on.”

“I’m certain, sir. I’m positive. We have to rescue him.”

“Listen.” Ulaz sat back down. “I feel for the prisoners on Sendak’s foul ship and for Haggar’s champion as much as you do. But the cause is more important. There is no way I could get him out without sacrificing my cover. And I’ve spent years building up this level of confidence with Zarkon and in his army. To put it quite simply, I’m not convinced he’s worth it.”

Thace felt his frustration growing. He’d met the man. He knew—somehow—he _knew_.

“Ulaz,” he stressed. “Your cover may be lost anyway. Somehow, this Earthling knows about the Blades. And he has Haggar’s full attention. If he knows anything about us, she’ll get it out of him.”

Ulaz gazed the length of the blue room, the main hall of the rebel base, and surveyed the population of rebel fighters and operatives. “You haven’t convinced me that he _does_ know about the Blade of Marmora.”

“Really?” Thace reached a hand under his breastplate. “He drew this right before I entered his cell.” He slapped the paper onto the table, along with his claw, making a _thunk _as it struck the wood. “You think THIS is a coincidence?”

The image was inexpertly drawn, but it was rendered carefully, with overwrought, unmistakable detail. Keith’s knife glared up from the page.


	14. The Long Game

After that, they left him alone for a while. He just sat alone in the room for about an hour, feeling his head ache and his jaw and teeth smart. He could barely open his mouth. His eyes were puffing up too. The blood that he could taste was coming from his nose, he kept sniffing it back.

He just closed his eyes and focused on breathing and tried to keep his heart rate down. It would be better if he could conserve energy. God knew he would need it.

He looked again when somebody came in. It was the Galra doctor—the one who had apologized to him.

“Hey… Don’t mind me. I’m supposed to check on you here real quick.” He looked at Shiro’s face and winced visibly.

“Hmm,” Shiro assented without moving his jaw. He didn’t trust the Galran at all, but it was a good time to see somebody who was, if not friendly, at least neutral.

The doctor moved up closer and crouched. He was holding a small white bag. With one hand he started carefully unwrapping the bandage on Shiro’s upper arm. He looked down at his own arm and saw that the redness had gotten worse than before, and the teeth marks were leaking blood again and some disgusting white fluid.

The Galran pulled a syringe out of his bag. Shiro tensed when he saw it.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about this. It’s just an antibiotic. It’s like I thought, you have an infection.” The doctor shrank. “Haggar would have my head if she knew about this. She’s firmly in denial. She doesn’t make mistakes, you know. But you need it.”

He nodded.

The doctor wiped off a spot on the back of his arm and stuck him where he couldn’t see, then put a new bandage on. He stood up. “Have to go now. Hang in there.”

Then he left, and Shiro was alone again. He wasn’t sure how long they were going to leave him here. Until the next morning? Maybe. But something about Haggar’s final words made him think otherwise.

And he was right. Within another hour two Galra came in, and he recognized them. Quello was one of them.

“Well, well, how the mighty have fallen.”

Shiro didn’t bother reacting to that.

“All right, time to go.” He unclipped a metal bracelet from his belt and slapped it around Shiro’s wrist.

Hmmmm.

Then the two guards took positions and the energy restraints retracted.

***

They threw him into the basic cellblock, the same place he’d been when he showed up from Kerberos. That blue shield flickered off it seemed for but a moment, only long enough to dump him on the floor, where he collapsed, exhausted.

Well, this was familiar, so it was ok. Also, he could sleep here, so maybe the Galra hadn’t gotten the message from Haggar. He’d take what he could get.

He curled up on the cot in the corner and closed his eyes. It took him a minute to find a comfortable position where nothing was pressing into his jaw. But as soon as he did, he immediately started sliding into unconsciousness.

There was a jolt of pain, and he startled awake.

Shiro sat up immediately.

_What?_

It was the _bracelet. _The bracelet had _shocked _him. It was deceptively cold and unmarked, now, as he looked it over, but he was sure of it.

Hmmm. He had a creeping feeling about the bracelet, and he didn’t like it at all. But, better not to jump to conclusions. He lay down again.

But once again, as soon as he started nodding off, the bracelet gave him a jolt. It was a relatively small one, certainly not dangerous. Not as painful as being punched in the face, but it was sharp enough. The intent was obvious.

_Damn, she really did._

Somehow, it could sense when he was falling asleep.

He couldn’t even really keep an optimistic face about this one. _Wellp, this is going to suck. _

Instead of lying down, Shiro propped himself up on the cot, leaning against the wall, and closed his eyes halfway. He knew the worst thing he could do at this point was get upset, or angry, or frustrated. That would only waste energy. Haggar was playing the long game.

***

Three or four more times during the night, he had found himself nodding off, even totally by accident. The bracelet had kindly reminded him to stay awake.

Now it was morning, and the other prisoners were waking up and stirring, but there was still no sign of the Galra or Haggar. The pain in his jaw had faded somewhat, but his face still felt very swollen and bruised. And his headache needed sleep badly.

_Come on, Shiro. It’s only been ONE night. You can do this._

The light from all the other cells made him feel a little more awake, not as much as the sun would have, but it was enough to stir his brain. He got up and turned his own light on. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, and for the time being, the light made him feel better.

He knew the other aliens were around him, but he didn’t try talking to anyone. Everyone was bumping and stirring around and going to meals or showers or the gym. He didn’t try to sleep, but he didn’t waste energy either.

***

In the evening, the aliens settled down. He hadn’t been summoned from his cell, for any purpose at all. They’d fed him right there, the same porridge he’d had on his first day here. At least they were _feeding_ him. He knew it would help so he ate some.

Good thing it was a liquid because he’d have had a hard time chewing right now. But what he really wanted was sleep. He’d been awake for almost forty hours.

The lights in the other cells turned off. Shiro turned his off as well, then sat back down. He’d been sitting on an idea. Maybe here in the dark, he could get away with it.

_The shirt. _

He shrugged off the purple shirt, easing it carefully over his head. Then he tucked it into the cuff. It was tight, but not so tight he couldn’t get the fabric between the bracelet and his skin. Nice.

Feeling like a genius, he promptly lay down on the cot and fell asleep.

Not more than an hour later, he was awakened by somebody kicking him. Through a dense mental fog, he scrabbled back to a defensive position. It was Quello. He was accompanied by a sentry, which grabbed the shirt and snatched it away.

“No,” the galra snarled.

Then they left as quickly as they had come.

Well, it had been worth a try.

***

The lights had come back on. He didn’t care what time it was. He just wanted to sleep. It had been such a long time.

All the strength had drained out of his limbs. He couldn’t move without trembling. His thoughts kept going round and round in circles.

_Sleep._

The light hurt his eyes. He’d kept his own cell dark, although it hardly made a difference when everybody else’s was on.

_I don’t know if I can do this._

That horrible bracelet shocked him again. He barely even twitched. He didn’t care. If only not caring would make it go away.

He didn’t get up to eat the porridge.

_How long this go on for?_

He knew the answer, of course.

_As long as she wants._

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep as long as the bracelet was on. That meant… he had to get rid of it. The desperate thought spurred him into action. He sat up and examined the cuff. There was no way he could fit his hand through it, of course. But there was a latch. It had been open when the Galra put it on. If he had a pin, maybe he could pick it.

But he didn’t have a pin or a shiv. He smashed the cuff into the wall with as much force as he could stand.

Ow.

It was undamaged. He smashed it again.

Ow.

_Nope._

He smashed it again.

***

_Sleep. Sleep. Sleep._

It drilled into his head nonstop. He could feel his mind breaking down. The headache was a thing of the past; now there was just that sharp cottony itch that made every thought painful. He wanted to scratch his brains out.

Sleep wasn’t enough. He wanted to _die._

_ Whoa, whoa. Where did that come from?_

The thought had slid into his mind out of left field. He’d never been suicidal.

_Like sleep, but more._

_ You don’t want to die. You want to sleep. Stop._

_ Die. Die. Die._

He didn’t die.

***

“Get up.”

He didn’t move.

“Get up!” Somebody kicked him in the legs.

He forced his eyes to focus momentarily. There was a Galra there.

“Get up, you piece of trash!”

He’d rather die.

_No, you wouldn’t. Get up. You have to. You HAVE to._

He put his legs under him and staggered to his feet. The galra touched something to his wrist and the bracelet fell off.

_Oh._

He immediately fell back to the cot.

“No! Get up!” This time the Galra, and a sentry, apparently, grabbed his arms. They hauled him to his feet. He was too weak to care about resisting.

“You’re wanted on television.”

_No. _He couldn’t fight. Not like this.

Shiro forced his mouth to speak. Slurred words came out. “What… happened… to… peak… condition?”

“Come on, Champion. Give the people what they want.”

And Shiro was half-walked, half-dragged out of the cell, towards the arena.


	15. Bad Television

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please if you're still reading, give me a comment! It's kind of hard for me to tell how many readers I have on here, so if you comment it lets me know that there are at least a certain number of people reading!! And it makes me feel good ^-^ it doesn't have to be praise just say something

The next few minutes were a haze. The crowd and background noise was a blur, he wasn’t really conscious of anything further away than the ground. When he didn’t walk out from the holding bay, they had to shove him. He fell into the sand.

_Wake up. You’re going to die._

Pure adrenaline returned a few of his senses. He struggled to bring his eyes into focus.

The other door was sliding open. It was a green alien… he faintly recognized it. The gecko.

He’d seen it fight before. It wasn’t very big. On a normal day he would have been trying to recall its attack patterns. But he couldn’t remember anything now.

He stood up. The ground went sideways. Taking even a single step felt like climbing a steep hill.

When the gecko saw him, it shrank back in fear. Wasn’t he the champion who had killed Myzax? But as it hesitated, it seemed to realize his condition. When it approached slowly and he didn’t move, it finally stopped hesitating and ran for him headlong.

The gecko wasn’t armed, but neither was he. It was going to be hand to hand.

As the alien hit him he raised an arm and caught it, flinging it back into the sand. It hit a few feet away like a sack of beans, but bounced up again like rubber. It charged again. This time he lost his balance and fell to the ground. The gecko was on top of him. He rolled over and put it under his weight.

With the energy of desperation, he moved his right hand to its throat and pressed down.

The gecko gagged and choked.

_Die die die die die._

The gecko’s struggles became weaker. He didn’t let up.

His vision blurred. A familiar face stared up at him, with golden-brown eyes and honey-blonde hair. Matt Holt was under him and he had his palm pressed to Matt’s throat and he was choking the life out of him. He was killing Matt.

“Shiro…”

Shiro recoiled in horror, dropping his opponent. He rolled away onto his back.

_No no no no no._

“FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!”

Who was saying that?

He didn’t move. The gecko didn’t move either. They lay there for a very long time as voices and lights went back and forth.

He didn’t remember anything after that.

***

Arius Opalthorpe slammed the door of his office.

He was a Tofer from the planet Purkel, portly, orange-colored with cloven hoofs, and plenty of headfeathers left for his age. He was also the co-producer of the Empire Championships, and it was precisely his job to make sure this sort of thing did not happen.

By Jove, he had words for that witch.

He marched down to the lower halls, the ones that she tended to inhabit on her too-frequent visits. Why couldn’t that druid just mind her own business and stay with Emperor Zarkon’s main fleet? He’d take her money and her fancy toys, but he disliked her very much on a personal level.

He knew she was nearby when he reached the base level, the one with the entrance to the stadium. He didn’t know how she knew—he could just _feel _her, as though she’d done one of her de-materializing tricks and now hung vaporized in the air. It was unnerving, but even that irritated him.

“Haggar!” he shouted. The word echoed down an empty hall.

There was a long silence.

Well, maybe she wasn’t here after all. Time to search the cellblocks. He turned around.

Haggar materialized in front of him with a swirl of smoke. “Arius.”

_Hells._

He rattled off his speech; it was too late to abort now. “My Lady, your decision to throw the champion into the ring under duress was poorly received by our audiences.”

“Is that so?” Haggar smiled, baring her teeth in her unsettling way.

“Yes indeed it is, ma’am. I’ve been the co-producer of the Championships for three years. I know what the public wants. They want a fair fight. At least, they want to perceive a fair fight, for the glory of the Empire. Especially the Galra, with their strict code of honor. That’s what it’s all about. That’s how they convince themselves to watch.”

He jabbed a finger at her. “If we lose a fair fight, _we lose our audience_. And _this_? This was _not_ a fair fight.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes!” He was emboldened by her lack of reaction. “He’s one of our most hotly-anticipated combatants and he was _too weak _to even kill his opponent! It makes bad television! The Empire knows his strength and they want to see it!”

“Tell me, Arius.” Haggar vanished and reappeared behind him calmly, without even breaking her speech. He staggered around to face her. _Dammit, woman._

“Do I serve the Empire? Or does the Empire serve me?”

He knew it was a trap, but he couldn’t figure it out. He hesitated. “…my lady…?”

In a flash that ball of dark energy was between her fingers, and she planted her palm on his chest. He could feel it enter his body, an uneasy crackling magnetism that affixed her to him as she jerked him close.

“The Empire serves _me_, you spineless fool!”

She threw him back again. “You may be free in title, but you’re a slave as sure as the prisoners you parade around this arena. You are lower than them, Arius. They are slaves of Emperor Zarkon. But you are a slave to _everyone_. Every Puigian and Krellian and Unilu that bothers to watch you from the couch. You are a slave to slaves.” She wrinkled her lips in disgust.

“But I am not a slave. I do not serve the Empire. And with my Champion, I shall do as I please.”

She vanished, leaving Arius sitting on the cold metal floor rubbing his bum, his heart thudding in his chest.

***

When he woke (he had been _sleeping_, blessed Lord, _sleeping_) he was lying on a bed in a cell.

He woke to somebody _touching_ him.

It was Haggar. She was standing by the side of the bed, leaning down, running her fingers through his top lock of hair. He jerked away.

In an instant, she snapped her fingers, and the standard energy cuffs appeared around his wrists and ankles. A chain grew between them and shortened until his hands were together.

“_Don’t _touch me.”

She stepped back. “Ah, my champion. I could not help it. You are so beautiful.”

She was insane.

“I am impressed with your ability to sleep for sixteen hours. Your species continues to surprise me.”

_Sixteen…?_

He tried to remember. It was all a haze. He’d fought an alien. Matt… no, that part wasn’t real. A dream or something.

“What… what happened?”

Haggar smiled. “You killed the Erbian. It died from its injuries shortly after the fight.”

He laid his head back down weakly. “No…”

“Yes.”

_No. I killed him. I killed him. He was just trying to survive and I killed him. I’m a murderer. I’m playing right into her hands._

Hagger opened the cell door again and backed away.

“Wait,” he said softly.

She paused with her hand on the button.

“What was his name?”

She grinned. “Partho.” Then she shut the door. The energy cuffs vanished.

He waited for her to leave. One minute. Two minutes. Three.

Then he unleashed a strangled scream into the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Arius he just kind of came out of nowhere but he was fun to write


	16. Reunions

The next weeks were again solitary confinement. For a time they did not even take him out to the cafeteria. He was not put back in the ring either. The 1024 Empire Championships ticked on without him.

He couldn’t even begin to guess what Haggar was up to, or thinking. At least she wasn’t around.

Many days and nights and prayers for forgiveness passed uneventfully.

His wound had improved at first, thanks to the Galran doctor’s antibiotic. Yet, it failed to fully take hold. It had been too little, too late. In the second week, it took a turn for the worse. In some places it looked mostly healed, but in other places it was dark around the edges, and turned bright red and started swelling again. He knew this couldn’t be good and he tried to clean it off in the shower but there was little he could do for it. By three weeks it had an unpleasant smell (he tried to keep it tightly wrapped) and a low-level pain almost all the time. Also, he had developed a low fever. Strange that this out of all the things that had happened, this should worry him the most. He’d told the guards but they hadn’t listened.

One day, at last, the cell door opened to two Galra. “Lunchtime,” said the one.

He went with them without hesitation.

After weeks of dimness and quiet, the cafeteria was a sensory assault. Shiro got in line immediately, trying to mind his own business. It was good to be here… but he was intensely self-conscious. They would know. They would know he killed Partho. How, he wasn’t sure.

Maybe he was just thinking strangely because of the fever. It had made his skin prickly and cold, and his breath was hot, and he felt a little fuzzy in the head.

They definitely knew _something. _The aliens were giving him funny looks. They were scared of him before. Now they were right. Maybe they had been right all along. He’d been thinking about that for weeks. Now he knew that all Haggar had to do was throw him into the ring and he would kill them.

_No. I don’t want to._

But he had.

Suddenly something came flying at him. He threw up a hand but it went for his legs. It was Yoo. Yoo hugged him tightly, and tiny sobs shook his little body.

“Whoa!” Shiro staggered back, then reached down. “You ok there little buddy?”

“She told me.”

“What?”

Nyelle appeared, making her way toward him out of the crowd. “Oh! Shiro! Thank God!”

“It’s me,” he said, startled. “What… what’s going on?”

“We were so worried. After Haggar came for you. I tried to find out what was happening, but nobody knew.” She stopped and just stared at him for a few seconds. It wasn’t her usual stare, though—she just seemed unsure what to say.

“Can we sit?” he said.

She nodded, but at the same time a gray, noseless female alien (Alkari, something in his brain reminded him) came up to him. “Champion,” she said. “We are pleased to see you well.”

He scratched his head. “Do I… know you?”

“We have not met. However, I and my sisters have heard the truth about you and we wish to express our sympathies. As well as our apologies.”

Shiro didn’t know what to say. “I… I… well, thank you.”

“Come on,” said Nyelle, and pulled him back to their table. She was not sitting by herself. There were at least six other aliens, including the four-armed Unilu named Borix, two amphibians, and… not Musha, but another caterpillar like him.

Shiro couldn’t hold back anymore. “_What_ is going on?”

Nyelle squeezed herself in, and gave a veiled smile. “Borix gossiped. To _everyone._”

He looked up and down at the faces at the table. They moved out of the way to make room for him. Finally he consented to sit down. “I don’t understand. What do you guys know?”

“We know you’re not bloodthirsty as you let on. You were just… pretending,” said the yellow amphibian.

“We know Haggar picked you out because she wants information on your planet,” said the caterpillar. “She’s trying to make you look bad.”

“We know you gave Artixerxes a chance to surrender,” said one of those stickbug-type aliens. “Nobody does that.”

“And you’ve been missing for almost a month,” said the other amphibian. “Anybody would talk.”

“Okay… okay.” He had started trying to eat, he really had. “Got it.” It was touching. But he didn’t deserve their admiration. He really didn’t. Not since he’d killed Partho.

“Why did you pretend?” asked the yellow amphibian.

Shiro’s mouth went dry. “I…”

“On the day that my sister died. You killed her murderer and I thank you for that. But they also say that you attacked one of your own kind. Before you were even in the ring.”

Nyelle looked up at him as well, concerned, but also interested.

Well, he could tell it for her.

“That was… my friend Matt. He was too young to fight. I had to injure him to keep him out of the ring.”

“Ohhhh.” All the other aliens nodded.

“Clever!” said Borix, and clapped two of his hands. “And we all fell for it.”

Shiro gave a brief smile, but then returned to picking at his food.

“Hey guys,” said Nyelle. “Now you know. You’ve had a look, all right? Why don’t you give us some space.”

Slowly they cleared off except Nyelle. Borix went last. Yoo had returned though and wouldn’t stop clinging on to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked at last. “I mean, really. Did they hurt you.”

“Oh… you know.” He didn’t want to talk about it. Well maybe he did, but he didn’t know how to start. “You know how they are.”

She stirred her soup. “I do. I’m sorry.”

But there was one thing he _needed _to talk about. In part because he needed… somehow, he needed to know what she thought. She was the one who had got him thinking in the first place.

“What do you know about my last fight?” he asked.

She hesitated. “…nothing. Except that you won. Obviously.”

He clenched his napkin in his fist. “There was an alien. I don’t know what kind he was. I saw him before. In a level one fight. He was smaller than me. He had never killed anyone. He just… I… I… he attacked me and I…”

“Shiro…” she reached across the table and put a hand on his arm.

No, he couldn’t do this. He needed more privacy. Even though they were sitting alone, it wasn’t enough.

“I said those things because of _me_. I’m not judging you.”

“That doesn’t make them wrong.”

“No, I guess not.” She paused. “But… you’re still alive to try another day, right? Don’t let this set you on a dark path. That’s what Haggar wants. You can still keep her from having what she wants.”

He looked at her searchingly. Finally, he said, “Okay.” He stirred what was left of his soup again. The fever had taken away some of his appetite. It had also loosened his lips, it was almost like being a little drunk. “I still think… I should do something, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something to commemorate Partho. It’s not like anybody else is going to. I owe him that much.”

She smiled encouragingly. “I think that’s a great idea. What do you want to do?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“Hmm. Well, there’s not a lot of options around here. I can tell you what I would do.”

“What’s that?”

“Draw a picture, maybe write something, and put it… somewhere. Maybe in here.” She perked up. “I could help. I could probably get you a pencil and paper if you don’t have any.”

He put down the spork. “That’s not a bad idea I guess.”

“Besides,” she said, eyeing him. “It will help you get back to normal. Art is good for the soul, you know. I didn’t know humans could experience quintessence depletion.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked bemused. “What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“Do I really look that bad?” He looked down at himself. There was the wound, sure. But he didn’t really know how he looked, he hadn’t seen a mirror in quite some time.

“Your hair might turn brown again.”

“My hair… is… brown.”

However, he could tell from the look that she gave him that his hair was not, in fact, brown. With dawning comprehension, he slowly lifted a hand to his head.

“Not all of it. You’ve got a little bit of white on top. You need a mirror.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “It’s okay, we’ll have it back to normal in no time.”

He smiled wanly. “Nyelle, this kind of thing in humans is… permanent.”

“Oh. Well, don’t worry about it, then. Actually, I think it looks quite handsome.” She blushed. “You’re pretty. You’re like… my furnace.”

It was the final blow to the cold cloud that surrounded him, he could feel a ray of sunshine steal in. “You too,” he said.

***

Everything settled down a little the next day. The warmness persisted, and it wasn’t just the fever (which wasn’t any better).

“I haven’t forgotten about my promise, you know,” said Shiro.

“I haven’t forgotten either,” said Nyelle. “I’m trying to come up with ideas.”

“I was thinking about sentries,” said Shiro. “They can open the doors that Galra open with their hands. That means there’s another way to open them that’s based on code and not on the Galra’s actual body. Which is great, but we’d still need a way to interface with the device. If I could just get alone with a single sentry – at a convenient time— but they never let me.”

She squinted. “Right now I’m just trying to figure out where I’ll get the paper for our little project. It’s tough to get anything when you’re a level one.”

“Oh,” said Shiro. “That reminds me. What’s your number?”

“Five hundred and sixty-five.”

“That went well,” said Borix suddenly, sitting down with his tray. As he said it, he looked around the cafeteria. They both knew he was referring to the day prior. It was back to their little group now, of which Borix was apparently now a part.

“To be honest,” said Shiro, “I’m not quite sure what you were trying to accomplish.”

Borix shrugged. “You can see. Things are different now.”

And they were, somehow. It was like before, everyone had been isolated, sticking to tiny groups, afraid to become acquainted with someone they might one day have to fight. But merely the event of having a single, united emotion about anything had broken all of that up. The cafeteria felt more _friendly _now.

Borix rubbed his chin with his bottom left arm. “Maybe if the _audience_ knew your story, they’d root for you more.”

Shiro leaned back on the bench, skeptically. “What difference would that make? Besides, I don’t think _they _will ever like me. Not after what I said after my first fight.”

“It’s not about them _liking_ you,” said Nyelle.

“What, then?” Shiro looked back and forth between the two of them.

“It’s about… them seeing somebody out there who doesn’t play the game in the same way as everybody else. Somebody who’s different.”

“What did you say to them?” asked Borix.

“I told…” it was a little embarrassing now. “I told them to go to hell.”

“Understandable,” said Borix.

Nyelle sighed.

“I know. I was angry. Maybe I don’t _want_ them on my side.”

Nyelle seemed to be thinking hard. Finally she licked her dry lips. “They’re oppressed by Zarkon too, you know,” she said.

“Sure they are. But how can they tolerate this? Who would watch something like this for fun?”

“I used to,” said Borix. His face was, for once, dead serious.

Shiro just stared back at him, troubled.

“I know,” said Nyelle. “Zarkon is awful. But… people tolerate it because he makes the quantum trains run on Daiberzaal standard.” She shrugged sadly. “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t deserve your sympathy. But think about Earth. I know you’d do anything to protect your people from the Galra Empire. And I admire that.”

He acknowledged her with only a flicker of his eyes, he was thinking too hard on the words. _You’d do anything… _To hear someone else praise him for being the very thing he aspired to be. Well, it was something.

“But Earth is a whole planet full of good _and_ bad people. I assume.” She ducked. “I mean, mine is. Herdazians have a reputation for being vain and shallow. And it’s, well… not totally undeserved. But regardless, I know you love Earth. I heard you talk about it. But the rest of the universe needs to be saved too.”

He nodded slowly.

“I dunno,” said Borix, drooping his head in his four hands. “We suck. Maybe Earth really is better. I’m sure nobody on Earth has ever done anything like the Empire Championships.”

“No,” said Shiro. “You’re right, Nyelle. But… Borix, I still can’t take your suggestion.”

“Then how are you going to tell them—”

“I’m not going to tell them. I’m going to show them.”


	17. It Has To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over here im almost finished writing this fic, but you guys get it one chapter at a time. isnt that lovely

After that the conversation turned to lighter matters. They talked about the other aliens, Borix told funny stories, and Yoo and Borix had an argument about whether spears or swords were better.

As they were finishing lunch, there was a noise over by the doors. Shiro looked and saw the Galra guard who always stood inside during lunch hours, crack the doors open a bit and talk to someone.

Then the doors swung wide and two more Galra burst in. They marched across the floor, and he knew immediately where they were going. They were coming for him. And not for something good. His pulse picked up in alarm.

However, Nyelle and Yoo and the others were watching. It had upset them enough last time he disappeared. They were bound to be upset again but he didn’t want to make it worse than it needed to be.

“Nyelle,” he said. “I have to go.” Then he gave Yoo’s chubby hand a quick squeeze and stood up just as the Galra arrived at the table with their blasters.

“Come on,” said one. “You’re wanted by Haggar.”

Nyelle blanched and jumped to her feet. “No!”

“Not you,” the Galran snarled, twitching the blaster. “Sit down, Herdazian.”

“Nyelle,” said Shiro firmly.

He’d been expecting Yoo to get emotional, but instead of crying or clinging, Yoo turned to the Galrans and _hissed. _Shiro was startled for a second, as were they. But he ignored Yoo and nodded to the Galrans.

They didn’t let down their guard, but allowed him to exit the cafeteria without touching him, which was a plus at least.

“Funny timing you have,” he muttered when they got into the hall.

“That’s none of my business,” said the Galra. “Come on.” They grabbed him by the arms and marched him along swiftly. Dang, these guys were strong.

“All right, what’s going on?” He tried to make his voice sound steady.

They ignored him, but instead started going at each other.

“I told you he wasn’t supposed to be there. She said solitary for twenty-eight days! She’ll have our heads.”

“She said twenty-six! And not if she doesn’t know about it.”

“She said twenty-eight!”

“Twenty-six, I swear!”

“Until she got back, you idiot!”

And it started to sink in. Nothing about his standing had _actually _improved. It was back into the frying pan.

He didn’t recognize it from the outside, but when the door slid open he realized this was the examination room where he’d been when he had the broken arm.

_Oh hells._

He saw the sympathetic Galran doctor standing just inside the door and was a little relieved; then he saw Haggar standing just beyond and his relief vanished.

“Show me,” said Haggar.

“You… you’ll have to get him on the… the table.”

It was tilted vertically. The two Galra wrestled his arms into position on the table, and the energy cuffs appeared. Sweat dripped off his face, some from the fever, some not. Maybe this was just a medical appointment, but he couldn’t be sure. And that still didn’t mean something deeply unpleasant wasn’t about to happen.

_You have to be strong._

The Galra doctor came over and tilted the table back to a horizontal position. “Look,” he said, and went over to a holographic display nearby. Haggar followed. “This is his temperature. It’s elevated above our previous baseline measurements. That can’t be good.”

Haggar just narrowed her eyes.

“And look,” he said, walking back over to Shiro’s side. He unwrapped the bandage. Regardless of his care, Shiro still winced at the touch. The wound was exposed.

“We _have _to do something about this. If we don’t, it _will _be too late. The arm will have to go.”

_ What._

Somehow it had never even occurred to him that it had gotten _that_ bad. True, he’d been worried, but Haggar’s healing powers had done something to his perception of injury. He’d felt like they could heal anything if they _wanted_ to. And she wanted him to be able to fight. Right?

But he didn’t want to lose the arm. He really didn’t want to lose the arm. _Please, God, I don’t want to lose the arm._

Haggar walked over to his side to join the doctor. “Melus, when I desire your recommendation, I shall ask for it. I shall thank you not to assume that I do not know what I am doing. Insubordinate wretch. I should have you scalped.”

Melus gulped.

“However, you are too useful at the moment.” She sounded regretful. “And he is useful as well. I would not have him die. But he will survive if he keeps the arm for a couple more days, will he not?”

“He will survive, but—”

“But the arm will have to go.”

“If it’s not treated soon,” said Melus.

“Trust me,” said Haggar. “My powers have the situation well in hand.” She chuckled darkly at this little joke. “I shall make my decision based on results. Until then, Melus, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, my lady.” He backed out the door as quickly as possible.

“In the meantime,” said Haggar, regarding Shiro, “there is still enough time to do _this._”

And she reached out and grasped his hand. Black lightning oozed out from her fingertips and the dark power coursed from her hand into his. It wasn’t really like electricity. It was lazier, more cutting, and more deliberate. And his arm was paralyzed from fingertip to shoulder. He couldn’t move, not even to twist out of her grasp.

She let go, but he was still paralyzed. Couldn’t move. No matter how hard he concentrated on his fingers, they were unresponsive. It terrified him.

_Will this be what it’s like to not have an arm? God help me._

She turned around and when she turned back, she was holding a knife. It was small as a pocket-knife and double-edged.

“You will tell me about Earth’s defenses.”

Oh no.

His prior interrogation had not been fun, of course, but it was nothing he hadn’t anticipated. This was totally different.

_You’d do anything._

His fingernails on his other hand bit into his palm as he squeezed down.

_Furnace._

She sliced a thin line across his palm from thumb to fingers. Blood welled up from the cut. He could feel it but he refused to look. He was panicking inside, definitely.

_You’re a soldier of the Garrison._

His whole body flinched and shuddered involuntarily but he remained silent.

“Hmmm. How about a finger?”

And because he wasn’t looking, he didn’t see it when she slipped the blade under his fingernail.

It was worse than the palm had been. The pain was instantaneous and sharper than he could have possibly imagined. He twisted away from the table and a high keen broke free of his lips.

“That’s more like it.” She pulled the blade free.

“You will tell me about Earth’s defenses.”

And then something hit him, but on the next finger. Something heavy and with a lot of force. It hit the table too, and it was _loud. _His eyes snapped open. The pain didn’t even register for a second.

She stood back with a thick, heavy staff in her hand.

Shock was still radiating through his system. _Oh. This is going to hurt._

Then it did. It was staggering. He sucked in air, fighting for some semblance of control. It was a long time. Seconds—minutes. Gasps turned into sobs. His eyes watered involuntarily.

He risked another glance. The finger was bright red, and there was a dark spot on the fingernail, growing by the second. It throbbed with a splitting, unbelievable pain.

But, he was coming out on top. He wrested control of his breathing and hushed himself. _This is important. You can… you can… do this._

“Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?”

She held up her weapon again.

Everything in him recoiled. _No. Not again._

“Tell me about Earth’s defenses.”

“I… can’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

And she went for the next finger.


	18. The Blue Lion

“Is that everyone?” said Ulaz.

“No, sir,” said Thace. “Krolia is still on her way.”

Ulaz sat down. “She’s running late, we’ll fill her in when she gets here.”

They sat in a circle inside the council chamber at the Blade of Marmora’s outpost in the Alkari quadrant. The outpost was invisible, nestled in a fold of space-time surrounded by a minefield of Zanthorium crystals. It didn’t surprise Thace that she was having trouble finding the location.

“Fill us in, Topaz,” said Ulaz.

Topaz, the junior officer, nodded. “The intelligence I gathered from the druid’s database suggests that Zarkon is closer than ever to developing a way to track the Lions of Voltron.”

Ulaz pressed a claw to his brow. “How close?”

“Weeks… maybe months at the most. They’re only waiting on the harvest and production of a specialized type of quintessence. Everything else is done.”

Ulaz gave a dark look to no one in particular. “Kolivan will not like to hear this. He will probably say that we will have to move, and quickly. Zarkon cannot be allowed to obtain the lions. We will have to find them first.”

At that moment, the door hissed open to admit Krolia.

“You’re just in time,” said Thace impassively. He nodded to her, and she came over to join them, taking one of the high-backed chairs. She was a tall, slender Galra woman, with short purple hair and a stripe on each cheek. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he found her quite attractive. He had asked her out once, a few years back. She had politely but firmly refused him and that was the end of the matter. None of the other Blades knew about it.

He couldn’t know for sure, but he had the feeling it had something to do with her mysterious past; the years she’d spent marooned on a strange planet. She never talked about it, but… it reminded him of something.

“Hello, gentlemen,” said Krolia. “I see that you’ve already started. Hope I didn’t miss too much.”

“We were discussing Zarkon’s quest for the lions,” said Ulaz. “Topaz says he may be able to find them in a matter of months.”

Krolia drew her eyebrows in concern. “They must not be allowed to find the Blue Lion. After all I’ve worked for—"

“The Blue Lion is the only one we’ve located so far,” said Ulaz. “I am sure there are steps that can be taken to protect it. We’re still ahead of Zarkon in that regard.”

“Wait,” said Thace, his question coming to the surface. “Krolia.”

She turned her golden-violet eyes to him.

“What was the name of that planet you found the Blue Lion on, again?”

“Earth.”

It _was._

“In system…”

“X-9-1.”

Ulaz took notice of that. He scratched a pointed ear. “Wait. You don’t mean… that’s the planet…”

“Of Haggar’s new champion,” Thace finished.

Ulaz swore softly. “Quiznack.”


	19. Promises

He was a mess, literally and figuratively. All of the fingernails on his right hand were dark purple and bleeding. His palm still oozed blood, and there were a number of other smaller cuts all over his hand. He didn’t think she’d broken any bones, but he wasn’t sure.

He just lay there gasping and chewing his tongue. He couldn’t really distinguish between the wounds, it was all just one big blob of pain. It hurt so _much, _he’d nearly lost the ability to think about anything else. He opened his eyes only a crack.

Haggar set the knife back down behind her. “As exciting as this has been, that will have to do for now.” She sighed. “The masses wish to be entertained as well, I have heard. You have a match tonight, my champion, and you need to prepare.”

That got him to look.

“What?” She smiled mischievously. “Did you lose track of what day it was? And whose fault is that? I even have a special surprise for you tonight in the ring.”

“What,” he whispered. His voice was a little hoarse. “What do you mean?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” Her eyes dripped that yellow light. “Don’t worry, I can still save the arm.” She grinned. “All you have to do is win.”

She took a step back as if to leave him, then hesitated, returned, and turned his limp hand over palm-down. Even the light pressure of her touch caused his breath to hitch.

“Last thing.” She struck him across the back of the hand with the knife-handle with a sharp _crack_. Strobes of pain radiated all the way past his elbow. He groaned. But he felt his fingers twitch and his whole arm tense. She’d lifted the paralysis.

“I have left a roll of bandages on the table,” said Haggar. “Use them if you like. Your choice.”

And then, for real this time, she went to the door. It opened and shut.

Seconds later, the energy bonds dissolved.

He wanted to get up. He really did. But the second he started to sit up, he felt like a heavy weight was dragging him down. All his energy was drained. He was at least able to move his limbs out of their restrained positions; he drew his knees up. He couldn’t seem to make his body stop shaking.

Every finger still throbbed spectacularly, especially the thumb, which was the most recent one.

_You have a match tonight. A special surprise._

When was that? How long did he have? He visually located the white roll of bandages on a nearby counter. He needed that. His palm was still bleeding. Cradling his right arm, he dropped his legs off the table and slid to a crouching position on the floor.

Getting over there was harder than he’d anticipated. _Focus. _His knees wavered but he made his way over to the counter and leaned heavily on it with his left elbow. He grabbed the roll and slipped back to a sitting position.

Now… to do this left-handed.

He’d have to fight left-handed too. And no more drawing for a while. _If ever. _So much for that memorial thing.

He unwound some of the bandage and tried to break it off. Even his left hand was shaking. Why couldn’t he make it _stop_. The roll dropped to the floor and began spiraling away.

He cursed and crawled after it. Eventually he got it back, and managed to trap it with his arm and tear off a bit. He wrapped it around his hand, front and back.

Haggar’s special surprise couldn’t be anything good. There must be some particularly vicious, nasty alien she was going to sic on him. They wouldn’t send another Partho.

That thought made him wince.

He couldn’t wrap his fingers. Pressure on them made them throb even more intensely, and he had to keep them held at or above chest level to make them ease at all. The most convenient thing in a fight, he thought, would be to have the arm out of the way altogether, especially so he wasn’t tempted to use it. He took a long strip of the linen and started binding his arm to himself like a sling.

He needed to get out of here before he betrayed Earth. He certainly never intended to do such a thing, but… he’d never thought he’d kill innocents, either. Clearly he couldn’t trust himself. He pulled and scratched at his hair with his free hand, desperately trying to regain some focus. Slow breaths.

Shiro began looking around the room again. The door was locked, of course. And there was no other way out that he could see, no windows or vents or anything like that. But there were for sure things he could use as a weapon. Haggar might have left that rod.

_Who are you kidding, they treat you like plutonium. You have a reputation. _

But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t still pocket a weapon. There was no reason to assume that he would be evenly matched this evening, or – he hated himself for the pun but – evenly armed.

He stood steadily enough now, and walked over to the counter, where he found Haggar’s tray, and the… pocket knife. It was still smeared with his blood. He didn’t actually have any pockets. After a minute he decided on concealing it inside a layer of bandage. He washed it off in the sink and covered it with a layer of linen.

On top of all of that, he still had compunctions to contend with, although the opponent likely didn’t.

_What if I die tonight? _

It seemed more likely than ever.

_No, I can’t. _What about his promise to Nyelle to escape?

_Well, what about your other promise? _The promise to show them something honorable. The two promises seemed to conflict with one another.

***

At 8pm DST Shiro was in the dugout watching a fight between a racoon and a five-horned alien with the head of a rhinoceros. In lieu of the now customary curved sword, he’d been given a regular straight one. Well, maybe he wouldn’t need that little dagger after all. Then, he could save it for his escape. No one had seemed to notice it was missing.

The rhinoceros skewered the raccoon, and left the ring with long claw marks across its leathery skin.

How could he forget how brutal it was out there?

_There won’t be another Partho._

The gate rose and Shiro stepped slowly into the ring, sword in his left hand, point dragging a line in the sand. He stopped, looking around. He was alone. The crowd watched tensely, and he had a chance to look at them. Large and small, purple and green and blue and yellow. Aliens of every species across the galaxy, watching to see what he would do.

The grate at the far side of the arena opened, and the sound carried as though across a vast plain.

“CHAMPION SHIRO FROM PLANET EARTH! VERSUS! NYELLE FROM PLANET HERDASE!”


	20. Champion

Nyelle stood there. It was her, all right. She was gripping the hilt of a sword that matched his. She wore the standard prisoner’s uniform, purple over gray, and an unhappy expression on her lips. Her wide eyes took in the crowd and then him. He could swear he felt her heart break.

Only one of them could live.

_Oh, please God, no._

This was what she meant.

_ All you have to do is win._ He could hear Haggar’s laughter in the words.

“FIGHT!”

They stared at each other across the ring, not saying anything, not moving. This was not a fight he could win.

Shiro dropped the sword. It fell from his fingers into the sand.

Leaving it, he walked slowly toward the center of the arena.

Nyelle let go of her sword as well, and went out to meet him. The audience watched with bated breath. Each second ticked by, an unscripted moment of discovery.

They approached between the four pillars.

“Shiro,” she whispered. They were close enough now, they could touch. “What are we going to do?”

And at that moment he felt a deep sense of inner peace. “Nothing,” he said.

The audience couldn’t hear them speak. They sat, quiet, bewildered, with a growing rustle and murmur that spread from one end of the stadium to the other. She reached out and took hold of his left hand. They stood like that for a moment.

“THE COMBATANTS APPEAR TO BE…” the speaker trailed off. There was a click from the microphone.

They kept standing.

Moments later, a different, more reedy voice took over the PA. “PLEASE STAND BY FOR A COMMERCIAL BREAK. THE CHAMPIONSHIPS WILL BEGIN AGAIN IN A FEW MOMENTS.”

Shiro didn’t move. He kept a hold of Nyelle’s hands.

“What’s going to happen?” she asked. He could hear the fear in her voice.

“I don’t know. Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter.”

The audience’s muttering was getting louder and louder. They weren’t happy. He couldn’t tell if they were just confused, or disappointed about the lack of a fight. Hardly anyone was getting up for the commercial break; they were too busy watching the ring to make sure they didn’t miss anything.

Nothing happened. Her hand was warm, he concentrated on it, and strength seemed to flow out from it into him.

“ALL RIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” said the high-pitched male voice after a couple of minutes had gone by. “YOU MAY TAKE YOUR SEATS! WE NOW RETURN TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING.”

They began to settle down.

“CHAMPION SHIRO OF PLANET EARTH AND NYELLE OF PLANET HERDASE! VERSUS!”

What.

“THE YAZLIAN PANTHOKRATOR!”

The gate where Shiro had entered retracted forcefully. He pulled away from Nyelle, and they stepped back. An alien creature crept forward into the light.

It had four legs and gray, ridged skin. Its head had a mouth with sharp teeth and prominent tusks, and above that, four red eyes, two on each side of its face. And it was _huge. _At least six feet at the shoulder, and, including its thick tail, fifteen feet in length.

If only he still had the sword. But he’d dropped it near the gate. Nyelle’s sword was lying in the opposite direction. He had to go for that one.

The creature moved slowly, like a cat stalking its prey. It swished its tail, which had four stegosaurus-like spikes.

Shiro knew instinctively that if he ran for the sword, the Panthokrator would give chase at inhuman speeds. He began to walk slowly backward. “Don’t run,” he said to Nyelle.

The Panthokrator growled deep in its throat and padded forward on its two-toed feet.

He kept backing away. It was faster than he was. He looked back over his shoulder. _The sword, the sword._

His foot hit the blade. He stooped down and picked it up, then leveled it in the creature’s direction. “Surrender!”

Nyelle’s fingers touched his shoulder. “Shiro, it’s an animal.”

He lowered the blade. “Well, that makes things simpler.” He was already doing mental calculations. The Panthokrator growled again, standing in the center of the arena. “We’re going to move sideways around the edge of the ring,” he said. “Try and get to that other sword.”

He didn’t want to separate from Nyelle, and let her get out of his reach. But she needed to be armed.

“Okay.”

They started to move around the ring. The audience watched in silent suspense.

Where were the vulnerable spots on this thing? He supposed it had four whole eyes. It narrowed its top set at them.

Well… actually… that bottom set might not be eyes. The closer he looked, the more convinced he was that they were false eye-spots. Okay, it had two eyes. Maybe he could blind it.

“There’s two of us,” said Nyelle. “We could get behind it. I could go right and you could go left.”

Shiro shook his head. Her words too strongly evoked the fight where the Balmeran brother and sister had been killed.

They came upon the sword. Nyelle took it up. “I can do it,” she said. “Really. It’s our best chance.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay fine. You go behind and I’ll take the front.”

She nodded and they separated.

It was all right. He didn’t want her in the way for this anyway. The Panthokrator wiggled on its haunches, red eyes laser-focused on him. Then it sprang.

Those jaws and tusks were coming right for him and he barely knew how to roll with his arm tucked away, but he dove. It reached out with its foot and stopped him. He slashed out with the sword and – curse this left hand – he missed.

It rolled him back. His sword arced and hit across the tusk with a dull _whack_. He tried scrabbling to his feet and it gave a funny little half pounce and then knocked him down again with its other foot. It was _playing _with him. And he was too weakened to stop it.

“Shiro!” yelled Nyelle from somewhere on the other side. He couldn’t see her.

But the head of the Panthokrator snapped up.

_Nyelle, what are you doing?_

Distracted, the creature backed away from him and flipped around to face her. He didn’t waste a chance, but popped up with his sword for the tail as soon as it came around. It slashed a red line across the Panthokrator’s skin, but made no serious purchase. _Damn, this thing is tough._

He caught a glimpse of Nyelle’s terrified eyes as she levelled her own sword at the Panthokrator’s face. It opened its mouth and growled again, snapping at the swordpoint. Then it lunged for her. The audience gasped.

Shiro did the only thing he could think of. He ran up to the creature and drove the sword point-first into its flank. There were roars from the crowd.

The Panthokrator was enraged. It roared and flipped around. Its tail slammed into him. The sharp tail-spikes ripped through his bodysuit and drove a hard line across his back and side. He was knocked onto the sand, but the pain hardly registered through the adrenaline. The creature’s head plunged into his face. And he had no sword to block it. His right arm strained against the bandages.

_His right arm. The knife._

Shiro threw his legs up, and they connected with the Panthokrator’s throat. He pushed it away as hard as he could, while fumbling desperately with his left hand for the knife. He ripped into the linen and grasped the handle.

The Panthokrator was stronger than he was, and despite his feet pressing into its throat, it forced its head down. One of the tusks – sharp! Reached his cheek. He cried out as it slashed across his face, across his nose, from right to left.

But with a last shove he kicked its head back again, then swung the knife wide and into the Panthokrator’s real eye.

It was the Panthokrator’s turn to scream. It reared back like some kind of war elephant. And it did indeed have a rider. Sitting astride the animal’s neck was Nyelle. Cheering and shouts erupted from the stands.

She turned the sword and drove it in between the folds of the creature’s neck. Then it threw her off.

The Panthokrator stormed and raged, but seemed to have no perception of them any more. Within seconds, it began to weaken, and dragged itself along the ground.

Nyelle was lying on the ground a short distance away. Shiro slowly picked himself up. His face was streaming blood. He tried to wipe it on the bandaged arm and only ended up smearing more everywhere. He knew facial wounds bled a lot but this was pretty alarming. It ran all the way down his cheeks and dripped off his chin.

The Panthokrator lay on its side, breathing heavily. It wasn’t dead yet.

He staggered to his feet.

“Nyelle.”

She rolled to her feet. “I’m okay. You… you’re hurt.”

“I’m going to live,” he said. “I have to finish this.”

Time to put the Panthokrator out of its suffering. It had fallen away from the sword in its flank. He came up behind its back and yanked the sword from its body. Then he went back around to its head. Its remaining eye rolled to stare at him in wild pain. He drove the second sword deep into the bottom of its throat.

And the animal went limp.

Shiro went to his knees beside it.

The crowd was making a new sound. At first, he couldn’t understand it. It started quiet, but it was getting louder, coalescing out of the general noise. It was some kind of rhythmic chant.

“Shiro,” said Nyelle in wonder. “They’re saying your name.”

And they were. It wasn’t praise from the PA. It wasn’t praise from Haggar. This was something else.

“SHI-RO! SHI-RO! SHI-RO!”

He licked away some of the blood that had dripped down to his lips. “We did it,” he said, raising his eyes. 

“We did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Yazlian Panthokrator is a name that I gave to the creatures encountered in Shiro and Keith's part of s2 ep 2.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading! I really appreciate the support that ive been getting across platforms.  
I was just thinking one of the things about fanfic that's interesting is that since it doesn't have the same professional demands, I can sometimes fudge the rules of grammar in order to convey the correct emotion, which is something I can't really do in my other writing


	21. One Pure Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, this whole chapter wasn't even supposed to happen it just kind of did. It is also, in a way, a response to the Hunger Games.

The pentagonal gate, the one that Shiro had come out of, opened again and they walked back to it.

Nyelle supported Shiro on the way, as he was breathing heavily, and his free hand had gone to his side. He leaned on her, but there was a light in his eyes.

She didn’t know what had happened to his other hand, but whatever it was had been done between lunch today, and right now. At this proximity, she got a glimpse of his fingers. It wasn’t pretty. Well, none of this was _pretty_, but the wounds made her cringe. But there was no time to ask about it, she would just have to try to make him comfortable. He had suffered so much that she didn’t even know about.

She had been number 589. She’d never expected to fight this soon. But when they pulled her from her cell out of turn, she had the sinking feeling, the near certainty, that this was the day she was going to die.

The Yazlian Panthokrator had been a lovely creature, actually. But when it started attacking Shiro, she saw that sword sticking out of its flank, and knew what she had to do. She’d grabbed the hilt and pulled herself onto its back. It wasn’t for a lack of agility that she wasn’t a fighter. She may not have been as strong as Shiro, but she _was _capable. And as much as it hurt her to drive that sword into the Panthokrator’s neck, she’d saved his life, and she was proud of that.

The crowd was still screaming and cheering them as the gate closed behind them. She wasn’t sure if they’d _really_ accomplished anything or not. Were they just cheering a good fight? Or did they _understand_?

As soon as they were in the dugout, Shiro slumped down against the wall. Blood still streamed from the line across his face, painting a grotesque mask across his features.

She slipped off her mostly-dry purple overshirt and crouched down next to him, then started using it to gently dab away some of the blood.

“You need…” they didn’t have anything he needed. “You need a pod,” she said.

“A what?”

“Never mind.” She continued wiping his chin.

“Oh,” he said softly.

She jerked back. “What? Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“What, then?”

“It’s… heh.” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “I guess I won’t be so pretty now, huh. Guess I can’t be your furnace anymore. Sorry about that.”

Her eyes welled up with tears. “No! Of course you are. You’re… you’re…” She found his free hand and pressed it to her. “I don’t think anything could change that. Please don’t say that.”

He closed his eyes for a tick and then opened them again, and he was smiling at her weakly. “Okay. If you insist.”

There were things she couldn’t explain, things she couldn’t say out loud. It was because he was more than the furnace. The furnace had been a stopgap, a spot of light in a dark world that couldn’t really even keep her alive, it had just made her die more slowly. And some days, she had even hated that red light; it was the only thing she could see but it reminded her of what a horrible place she was in. It had saved her but she never wanted to see it again.

But there was something else.

There was a concept in Herdazian philosophy called the “one pure thing”. It was different for everyone. Sometimes it was a place. Sometimes an artwork, sometimes an idea. It was a thing of such compelling beauty as to demand absolute devotion. If you found the one pure thing, you had no choice but to follow it anywhere, to give up anything, all of yourself, your entire being if it was asked.

And she knew, absolutely, irrevocably, that he was it.

Ticks turned into dobashes. The crowd quieted.

The door at the back of the dugout opened and a Galran appeared with a sentry. They were here for him again, and she knew it. _No. _Wasn’t he hurt enough? She fell into a crouch in front of him. “You can’t have him,” she hissed.

“We’re here for _you_, Herdazian,” said the Galra.

_What?_

Shiro seemed surprised as well, he started trying to get to his feet.

Well, he had gone quietly once not to alarm her. She could do the same. “I’m sure it’s fine, Shiro,” she said. “I’ll go. You rest.”

He _growled, _but slid back into the sand.

All right then. She walked out with the Galra and his accompanying sentry.

The first thing they did was go upstairs. In one of the hallways they passed windows. On one side she looked out and saw the tiers of blue cellblocks. On the other side, she looked out and saw the arena, from a high-mid level. She looked down over the court. From here, the few stragglers who were still left looked tiny, like winged Chupers. She could hardly believe she’d just been down there. The glowing signs were turning off and sentries were already shoveling out the blood-stained sand and pouring fresh sand.

Just another hall away there was a locked door; and they stopped while the Galra put his hand to the glowing panel. Then they moved into hall with a very different atmosphere. It was lightly-air-conditioned, the floors were carpeted, and at every corner was a potted pink houseplant. Also – the purple was gone. Hallelujah, the purple was gone. Even this soft gray and blue was a soothing sight to her eyes.

The next door they came to was a restroom. A ladies restroom.

“Go in,” said the Galra.

She hesitated. She wasn’t sure what was happening. But at least he wasn’t going to come. She went in.

It was, in fact, a locker room. There were more plants, a smooth leather couch, a striped carpet, and on the other side of a partition, showers and a marble-tiled floor. It was stylish, clean, and overwhelming. She drew in a breath, trying to absorb all of it at once.

A female Galra emerged from behind the partition. “Time to get cleaned up,” she said curtly.

***

Nyelle shrugged into the dress. It was silver, with the glittering shine of actual metallic threads. Its softness was lovely in itself, a texture that slipped through her fingers like water.

“Sit.” She sat on a stool before a mirror and the female Galran ran a brush through her hair. Nyelle could see that she looked better now than her dull gold this morning. Her hair shone vibrantly, and each brush-stroke only improved it.

“All right,” said the Galran finally. “Just one more thing.” She popped out an eyeliner pencil.

“I’ll do it,” said Nyelle, reaching for the pencil.

“No, you won’t.” The Galran grabbed her face. Nyelle held still and tense, doing her best not to flinch as the point circled her eyes. They were a vital organ for Herdazians.

“There. Now I guess you’re ready for the camera. Get out there.”

Nyelle floundered towards the door. She had no idea what she was going to _do _on camera, and it made her nervous. But she went.

***

They took her to a door with a brass doorknob. It had a little plaque next to it.

_Arius Opalthorpe._

She knew that name. He was one of the producers of the Empire Championships. The Galran knocked and the door opened.

The inside of Arius Opalthorpe’s office was an absolute mess. There was a long desk with papers and pens and all manner of detritus scattered all over it in piles and groups. There were binders and boxes stacked on the floor.

However, one wall was totally clear. It was covered with a blue photo-backdrop, and there were two chairs sitting on the hardwood floor. Pointing at this partial studio was a large umbrella-light and a camera tripod.

And then there was Arius.

He stood up from his black swivel chair. He was a middle-aged, orange Tofer; balding, not very tall.

He gave her a very canned smile. “Ah, the lovely Herdazian! She cleans up well. I should have expected no less from such a beautiful creature.” Then he grabbed her hand and kissed it.

She pulled her hand away quickly.

Behind her, at least six or seven different aliens of various types had accumulated from various rooms in the hall and were now crowding into the office to watch.

“Won’t you sit down?” He gestured to one of the curved wood chairs.

She sat lightly, keeping a neutral expression.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what this is about,” said Arius.

“Yes.”

He took the chair opposite her with a thoughtful expression. “We need you to do an interview about what happened in the ring today.”

She blinked. “Me?”

He caught her drift. “Well, your partner down there has shown himself to be rather resistant to interviews.”

Nyelle’s fingers tightened on the armrest and she bared her teeth, barely able to stop herself from spitting at him. “That’s a funny way of putting it.”

Arius was unfazed, he waved his hand. “I seem to recall him telling my audience to go to hell.” He shrugged casually. “But you seem like a nice girl. You wouldn’t do something like that, now, would you?”

She shook her head a tiny fraction.

“Great. Roll.”

One of the staff was behind the tripod, and he hit a button. The red light came on.

“So Nyelle. Your partner, the Champion, is known to most of us as an unfriendly, violent individual. But you’re obviously closer to him than most. We were hoping you could shed a little light on what happened earlier today. I think we were all pretty confused, watching that go down.”

“You were? I think we made ourselves pretty clear.”

A spark of rage passed through Arius’ eyes briefly, but he suppressed it with his sympathetic smile. “Of course, of course. But people… they want to know _why. _Cut.”

The red light went off.

“All right, Nyelle. Here’s what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell them that you’re sweet on him. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“Roll.”

“I’m… sweet on him?”

“Like you _mean _it!”

“I’m sweet on him.” She blushed. Something about the words felt wrong. Not that it wasn’t _true. _But it wasn’t the most _important _truth.

“Aww,” said some of the alien staff.

“Aww,” said Arius. “Tell me what you like about him.”

“Well…” she hesitated. “We have the same values. But he’s tougher and braver than me, and I admire him for that.”

Arius turned cross. “Cut! No, what is this shit? Don’t talk to me about values. Tell me how hot he is. Come on, you’re a Herdazian. Aren’t you whores supposed to be thinking about that kind of thing all the time?”

Her mouth opened but she couldn’t speak.

“Now, why don’t you get off your high horse and tell us about how you and Champion Shiro are desperately in love in a way that no one else has ever been and will never be again. Tell us that you were completely overcome by emotion and were unable to think clearly.”

But this time nothing came out but the truth. She faced the camera, red light now rolling again. “Well, that’s not really what happened. We both have strong opinions on how it’s wrong to kill other creatures in the ring. We had thought it over, and we were in agreement on the matter.”

Arius jumped to his feet, scarcely taller than he had been before. His orange face darkened. “Brat! I can put you back in the hole! Do you want to go back to the dark?”

“N…no.” Nyelle shook her head, petrified. _Maybe it’s an empty threat. _But she shrank, and her eyes went to the carpet.

“Then say it! Say you expect him to keep winning and come out on top of the season!”

_He’s down there standing up to Haggar. Surely you can stand up to this little fellow._

“I will not.” She forced her tongue to form the words.

Arius grasped the arm of her chair. “You idiot! She will control him. She will break him. He will come out as a weapon. You won’t even _know _him. _Do you understand_?”

She wrenched her eyes off the floor. “He will not.”

He slapped her in the face.

“That’s enough,” said Arius Opalthorpe. “Delete it. We’re not airing that.”

As the Galra guard and the seven aliens shuffled Nyelle out of the room, she passed the co-producer’s desk. And as she passed, she shoved six colored markers and three pieces of paper into her sleeve.

But unfortunately, it wasn’t until she was outside that she had a somewhat more important realization.

These aliens weren’t Galra, but they weren’t sentries, either. And yet, somehow, they were able to move around the _Lapix_. That could mean only one thing. They had _keys. _


	22. Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Is That Part.  
Was I too theatrical? Maybe  
lmk though

Shiro wasn’t feeling great. Just in the last day he’d had his hand cut open, five fingers smashed, a tail-whip across the back, and been cut across the face by the tusk of a wild beast. Not to mention the fever from the infected wound, which seemed to be getting worse by the moment.

_The arm. _He still didn’t know if he was going to lose it or keep it. Much longer and it would be too late.

But he didn’t have to wait long. Haggar came for him in the dugout. It was only minutes after Nyelle was taken when the door came up. She had a retinue of sentries.

“Rise, Champion,” she said.

She must have seen his difficulty in getting to his feet, for she reached out. “Come to me. I will heal you.”

She wanted his dependence. She imagined herself as some kind of twisted benefactor. He hated himself, but staggered over. He had to be well if he wanted to escape.

The purple energy arose in her hand. She pressed it to his side and he groaned, gritting his teeth. He could feel the wound start to close. He sank to his knees.

She stopped the bleeding, then moved her hand to his face. He would have hit it away, but her dark energy transfixed him. That black lightning crept on his skin again, forcing his muscles to tense in place. It wasn’t just his arm, but his whole body this time, and he wanted to squirm, but he couldn’t even _breathe._

“Let me get that for you, my sweet champion.” She held him much longer for this one. “I wish to see your pretty face again.” The wound stung sharply and glowed with heat, but re-sealed, filling in with a line of scar tissue.

“There. Now, let us go.”

Shiro dropped away from her grasp with a breath like a swimmer emerging from water. “Where… where are we going?”

“To Zarkon’s main fleet. You have not obeyed me, my Champion.”

He could feel panic rising up again, with a bitter taste on his tongue.

“What are you talking about? I won.”

“Not in the way that I wanted you to.” The red lines on her cheeks twisted with her mouth.

“You wanted me to…” _to kill Nyelle. _But he knew that.

“From here on out, you will obey me.”

He shook his head.

“So rise. We must leave the _Lapix, _for the time being. There are things I cannot do here.”

Those words were _far _more foreboding than he cared for. He retreated to his position by the wall, wedging himself into that corner as if to stick there. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“He will not come.” Haggar’s eyes narrowed. “As you wish. Sleep.”

She gestured to him, and her figure blurred together with the sentries, and then into nothing.

***

He was barely conscious of being removed from the transport pod. He wasn’t walking. He wasn’t sliding. And yet, everything was going past him.

Green lights in the hallway, lit up on the posts and in tracks on the ceiling. He hadn’t even known Galra did green lights.

This was a place he hadn’t been before.

He was… floating. Rather, he was _being floated_ down a hallway. He rounded a corner and the lights were purple again. It was dim, very dim.

_Zarkon’s main fleet. _

Where was he going? Something was keeping him from waking up all the way. Maybe it was fever, maybe it was magic. It muted his panic, and he was glad for that; but it didn’t help him think any clearer.

He moved a little bit. He was shirtless again. There were two people walking behind him and two in front. They were wearing robes that resembled Haggar’s, and they had pointed metal masks covering their faces that looked almost like beaks. _Druids._

A larger room opened up before them, even higher than the arched hallway. He was still being carried, but he was more awake now. He saw light. It was the light of thousands of glass containers on shelves, glittering like stars. They lined the walls of a space that was narrow, but vastly tall. And these canisters were filled with some kind of golden, glowing liquid. The shelves kept going, up and up and up.

In the center of the room was a pentagonal platform. Whatever magic carried Shiro took him to the platform and dropped him on it. He collapsed there. His legs wouldn’t support him. The room stretched. He was hotter than ever and his mouth felt dry.

Above the platform there was, suspended, a claw-like apparatus. It was dark and didn’t move. He didn’t know what to expect from it, but he immediately went for the edge, trying to get off the platform.

He froze when he saw Haggar come in. The druids also stopped and faced her, as though waiting for instructions.

She spread her arms wide. “Welcome, my champion.” Her eyes were wide, and she laughed not with her usual dark irony, but with a pride almost like joy.

He swayed, but finally managed to get on his feet.

As he did, Haggar walked to a workstation panel. She flipped a switch. No sooner had she done so then he was floating again – for the claw lit up in a burst of energy. It projected a tractor beam of blue light that lifted his feet from the ground. He couldn’t go anywhere— he had no momentum. It was like trying to swim in air.

“Today,” she said, stepping back from the panel, “I do not merely take from you, my champion. Today I also give. I have been busy engineering a powerful weapon. It is a gift that will be yours to keep – forever. Druids!”

One of the druids walked to a dark object behind Haggar. He hadn’t been able to see it before, but now the druid gave a sharp jerk and a cloth fell away. There was a glass canister, like the ones on the walls, except larger. But instead of being filled with golden liquid, this one was filled with a translucent blue liquid. And floating in that liquid was… was… an arm.

An arm and hand made of white and black metal.

His breath fled.

She spoke grandly, as though delivering an oration. “You have the great honor of standing in the laboratory where dozens of simple, ordinary creatures have been changed into great warriors for my lord Zarkon.” She approached the front point of the pentagon, directly before him. “They have become my creations; their entire being reforged by myself, my druids, and the mysterious power of quintessence.”

As she said the word “quintessence”, the pentagon underneath him split open. It spiraled apart to reveal a deep pit of that same golden liquid, swirling like some sinister brew, bathing the room in yellow light. There was a deep whir, and a wind blew up from the pit, from some unseen vent, bringing with it a sharp smell like burning wood.

_Wait. No. Not yet. I’m not ready._

“Druids. Positions.”

The druids spread out to each corner of the pentagon, with Haggar keeping her place directly at the front. For a moment his mind was blank. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted off this ride now. He felt like he was going to be sick.

The druids raised their arms. Their dark energy raced toward the claw. The tractor beam intensified in brightness. It swelled into a blue orb, a spherical field with him at the center. The light flashed, painting the entire room in a blue light that overwhelmed even the golden quintessence.

And now, instead of floating loosely, the energy beam forced him still, his arms stretched out away from his body. He hovered low over the pit, around floor level. Haggar stepped up to the edge.

Her hood slipped back, and he could see her face clearly, purple skin and red stripes. Her long white hair and her robe were pulled by the wind. She put her palm to his cheek.

He could still move his face, and he jerked his chin away. She pulled him back, aided by at least a little magic, and looked directly into his eyes.

Her voice was soft now, not a grand speech, just a quiet word between the two of them. “Now… my champion. Remember. You don’t have to be awake for this. At any time, you have the power to stop it. You know what to do.”

His breath was stifled, he felt dizzy and light-headed. They were going to take his arm off and put a new one on. Right here. Right now.

It was too much. Too much. She was going to change him, to put him under her power, permanently. He could see the arm sitting over there in its fluid container and he didn’t want it to get any closer to him than it already was. She’d heavily implied it would do something to his mind. Could she really do that? Change him like that?

_Please, God, no. Anything but that._

“Please…” he rasped. “Haggar. Why.”

She had stepped away, she perked back up. “Hmm? I’m listening.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because.” She whispered back. “You are my champion, and I love you. But I do not talk about myself. Now. If you wish to speak, then speak.”

_You’re a soldier of the Garrison._

But he was terrified.

_Not even a soldier of the Garrison could be asked to endure this._

He was sliding down the bleeding edge of resolve.

But.

Earth.

The one and only planet earth. Population eight billion.

Home of the Holts, and his mom and dad, and Keith, and his next-door neighbor growing up and his first grade teacher and Iverson and his roommate Adam and all of the cadets at the Academy, and _every _person he’d _ever_ met, and many more besides that he’d never met and would never meet.

To her, the earth was just one small planet among many planets, as the sun was a star among other stars. To him, it was everything.

Surely that had to be more important than anything Haggar could possibly do to him.

He did not reply to her, but his eyes hardened.

“Druids of the four directions!” Haggar shouted. “Commence!” And that blue light flashed again. The jar with the mechanical arm shattered in a burst of glass. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest surely it would burst from the strain.

Just below his right shoulder, just above the infected bite wound, a clean, bloodless incision began to appear, as with an invisible knife. The druid magic was precise and perfect, not allowing a drop of blood wasted. He bit his lips. If only they’d given him something else to bite down on.

The invisible knife cut deeper into his flesh, like a white-hot ache. He shuddered involuntarily, and flinched hard, but couldn’t pull away from something that didn’t exist. He couldn’t keep silent either. The breath he had been holding broke free in a scream.

And still deeper it went. Even as he thought it couldn’t possibly get worse, it did. Every second was worse than the one before. If Haggar asked again, now, he didn’t know what he’d say. He could feel his resolve wavering.

_This is too much, too much, too much _

_I’m only human_

_Somebody has to stop this_

And then suddenly, with a jolt, the druid’s magic hit the bone and it was like when he’d been bitten by Artaxerxes but worse, so much worse. It was too much pain to even really grasp or understand. It splintered through his entire body. He heard screaming from somewhere outside. It had to be him. His vision blurred into gray.

_Lord have mercy…_

Within seconds his prayer was answered. He fainted.


	23. Haggar's Gift

“Activating neural link on three.”

The words sounded far away, as though he was underwater and they were somewhere out of it.

A bright light flashed in his eyes, but only for a moment.

“One. Two. Three.”

And he _felt _something in his right arm, something he’d never felt before. It was like a crackling, shivering spark that raced up his nerves through his shoulder and up the back of his neck. Then there was a feeling like an exploding firecracker in his brain and that was all.

***

Nyelle tapped one of the pens on the floor of her cell. What should she do? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if she’d be able to get these things back to Shiro. And last time she’d seen him, his right hand had been badly damaged. Would he be able to write anything? Draw anything?

Well, she did have three pieces of paper. She could use one and save two, just in case. Even if she didn’t see Shiro again – and she desperately hoped that wasn’t the case – she knew he’d want this done.

She didn’t know what Partho looked like, so she couldn’t draw him. However, she knew that he was one of the nameless prisoners who’d perished at Zarkon’s hand. One of the ones that everybody, even the other prisoners, forgot as quickly as possible. Well, hopefully he _wouldn’t_ be forgotten. It was time to bring a little personhood to those who were killed in the ring. Only that could, perhaps, save others in the future.

With a blue pen – it flowed with such smooth, soft ink! – she started on the letters.

REST IN PEACE, PARTHO. YOU WILL BE MISSED.

She spent the rest of the afternoon decorating the page with red, yellow, and black, her spirits beginning to return. Her hair was getting up a really fine luster, practically glowing. Art really was good for the soul.

***

That afternoon, before she left for the cafeteria, she slipped the pens and papers into her sleeve. However, when she got there, she was troubled not to find Shiro. She said a quick prayer for him.

She did find Yoo, however. He was looking downcast. She patted him on the shoulder. “I know,” she said. “We’ll see him again, though.”

“How do you know?”

_Because we’re going to escape._

“I just know.”

She moved away from Yoo and over to the back wall of the cafeteria. She removed the paper from her sleeve – it was a little crinkled. She smoothed it out. She was beginning to realize she had nothing to stick it with.

Luckily, Herdazian spit dried like glue. She licked the back of the paper, reached up as far as she could, and slicked it onto the wall.

As she did, she heard a voice from behind her.

“Hullo there.”

She turned around.

***

The first thing he noticed was that the fever was gone.

_Good._

Then he remembered what had happened in his last moments of consciousness.

His arm.

They’d taken his arm.

He gasped and his eyes snapped open, only to see the familiar blue-screened cell in the main block of the _Lapix_. He pushed himself to a sitting position.

With… his arm.

He’d just moved his arm. He looked down at it.

And there it was. That mechanical limb he’d seen in Haggar’s laboratory. It was white paneled, with black joints at the fingers, elbows, and knuckles. It was attached to him.

No… it _was _him.

There was no other way of explaining it. This was no mere prosthetic. He could move it. He flexed the elbow and fingers, and rotated the wrist. He could _feel _it. He could feel where it was in space. He could feel… he ran his other hand over it. _Some _sensation. Not as strong as before, but some. Pressure.

He touched his leg. Heat. He pressed it to the wall. Cold.

It worked.

He hated it.

Someone walked up outside the cell.

Haggar.

He’d never seen her here before. Typically she didn’t show herself in front of the common rabble.

“Ah, my champion,” she said. “I see that you are awake. I have been most anxious to speak with you. I regret that I was unable to touch base with you after the procedure, due to your unfortunate fainting spell.”

Rage filled him and a growling sound rose deep in his throat.

Then it dried up immediately.

_What? _What kind of sound was that? Did he do that? Was that like him? Or had she really done something to his mind?

She laughed at his consternation.

“How do you like it?” she asked.

He just glowered at her.

“You shall soon see how useful it is. Perhaps someday you may even come to appreciate my gift. It is linked to your mind. Now you belong to me.”

“No—”

“Yes. Look.”

At only a slight beckoning gesture of Haggar’s fingers the arm changed. It lit up with a web formed of strands of purple light. The black fingers glowed purple and he could swear he saw her dark energy radiating from his hand.

And it _hurt. _He grabbed at the arm, but it was coming from within, in a strange way that had no clear source or location. She was doing something to him through the neural link. He could feel the arm and she was using it to hurt him.

She let it fade. The hand dropped back to black. 

“Go away.” He trembled with rage.

“As you wish.” She smiled. “However, there is a sense in which, you might say, I will always be with you.”

“Go AWAY!” he slammed the metal fist on the wall.

She vanished in black smoke.

He just sat there.

He didn’t know what to think. He had seen and felt her dark energy in his body.

_No, it’s NOT my body._

But it was, it was a part of him and he couldn’t get rid of it. He picked at it, and then got tired of touching it. He laid still and closed his eyes; he didn’t want to look at it. But he was too restless. He paced back and forth in the cell.

_ They got me._

The words sprang unbidden to his mind. He was like that person in a horror movie, the one that gets trapped in a dark closet. They yell, and scream, and bang on the door. But after a minute they go quiet. And even later somebody lets them out, and they look fine, and they say that they’re fine, and they act like nothing happened. But you _know. _Oh, you _know._

Night fell over the cellblock as the inmates began to turn their lights off. Noise settled into silence. Sentries still patrolled, but only every few minutes.

It happened quite by accident. As Shiro was getting up once again from the floor to pace, he put out his right hand to steady himself against the force screen. And slipped. It had gone straight through.

He pulled it back unsteadily.

But of course, it was non-living. And the force screens only stopped living things. He looked outside hastily. Nobody had _seen _that, right? He couldn’t tell.

Slowly, he tested it again. The blue screen rippled around the fingers of the metal arm. For a second, his heart beat faster. This was an advantage. He could reach… he could reach the keypad. The one that turned the force screen off.

And what better time to test it than now, under cover of darkness? He waited, timing the sentries. He’d already had a vague idea of the length of their walk. All that remained was to count the seconds.

After the patrol had gone by, he reached the arm out and hooked it around to the left of the cell. He felt upwards on the wall. There it was, a square panel. It was one of the Galra-activated ones. But the sentries could do it. Maybe… maybe he could do it.

He felt a strange tingle in the hand. Then there was a low beep.

“Access denied,” said a metallic voice.

But of course.

He could practically hear Haggar’s voice. _Did you really think I would give you the keys to your own cell? _He could interface with the devices, but it wasn’t like they were going to give him the code.

He sat back down, despair returning. Up until now, he’d been thinking of his escape and return to Earth as an inevitability. Something that could happen at any moment, it was only a matter of when.

But now, for the first time, he began to think: _what if I don’t escape?_

Nobody was coming to rescue him. Matt and Dr. Holt were out there somewhere in a mine like the one Nyelle had come from, and nobody on Earth knew where he was, much less had any way of reaching him. Because he was so far away from Earth. Billions of miles. Light-years. The distance was literally inconceivable.

_No one is coming to help you._

Escape could only happen if he made it happen. And he wasn’t sure he had the ability to make it happen.

And then, what about Earth? Sure, he’d resisted Haggar so far. But what about the future? He’d learned not to underestimate her. She’d even done something to his mind. How long could he hold out?

_It will be yours to keep. Forever._

He knew without a doubt that he’d protect Earth every moment that he had the will to do so. But. Forever was a long time.

There in the cellblock, surrounded by hundreds of sleeping aliens, he felt more alone than he’d ever felt in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always bugged me that the Galra just so happened to give Shiro the means to get around their ships... seems a little illogical thing to give a prisoner. On the show Shiro seems to hack things with the arm almost subconsciously. Don't ask me how that works. But I'm doing my best to justify it, or as much of it as possible.


	24. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are all Nyelle in this chapter.

It had been over a week. There had not been a fight. He had not been taken to the cafeteria either. He didn’t know if they’d ever take him back there again. Probably not.

It wasn’t real solitary, because the cells on either side and below gave intermittent chatter, but he did not know the aliens occupying them and in his current state, wasn’t in much of a mood to make new friends.

But he regretted that neglect when a Galran guard showed up with two sentries. “I’ve been ordered to take you to the isolation cells,” said the guard.

Well, that was it. He would be really alone now. That was his life for the foreseeable future: eat, sleep, fight, die.

His metal arm did not pass through the energy cuff.

As they marched down the corridor, the guard took a different turn than he was expecting.

“Wh… where are we going?” asked Shiro.

“Just a pit stop. There’s been a deal.”

But he didn’t have time to ask what kind of deal before they came to the doors of the cafeteria.

They swung open and the guard pushed him inside.

And there was Nyelle, standing right in front of the doors as though she’d been waiting for him. She was bright, but her eyes were full of emotion. There was something different about her, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

He didn’t figure it out until she threw herself into his arms. She hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest, completely irrespective of the metal arm.

“Hey Nyelle,” he said gently, leaning back to look at her face. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just glad you’re here,” she said.

She began to let go, and her hands slid down to his hands. Shiro pulled the metal one away instinctively. This time she seemed to actually notice it. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened. “What did they do to you?” she whispered.

He just closed his eyes and turned his face away.

“I can’t believe… They _hurt_ you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. He desperately wanted something happier. He was only going to be here for an hour. “You look different too,” he said. “You… you cut your hair.”

She nodded. Her now-short hair swished around her ears. “For a bribe. A head of Herzadian hair at full luster is worth hundreds on the black market.”

Then it clicked.

“Nyelle, you can’t go trading away pieces of yourself for me. I won’t have it.”

Her lips spread into a thin line. “What? Shiro, look at _yourself_. This was important.” She took a step back. “There’s someone you need to see.”

As she moved aside, Shiro realized that every other creature in the cafeteria was watching them. And now they were not only watching. They were standing. Standing at the line, but also rising at the tables, and stepping back, and moving out of the way.

An aisle parted down the center of the room, and at the end of it he saw a familiar face.

It was Partho the Erbian.

The green gecko walked toward him, head bowed. The room maintained silence, with only soft murmurs. Shiro watched, stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He’d been so sure Partho was dead. He’d killed him. Haggar said so. But she could lie.

When Partho reached him, the gecko dropped to one knee. “Forgive me,” he said.

“What?” Shiro couldn’t believe it. “But… but… I should be asking you to forgive _me_. I thought I killed you.”

“No,” said Partho. “I attacked you. You were weakened, and I tried to kill you. You spared my life when I absolutely didn’t deserve it. You would have been totally justified in killing me in the ring. But you didn’t.”

He was once again struck completely dumb. His eyes were wavering, he could feel a pull on his lips. Today it was a great effort not to actually shed tears in front of everyone.

“I understand,” said Partho. “You don’t have to answer. I just wanted you to know. I needed to thank you.”

“I..” he got his voice back. “Yes, I forgive you.”

And then the cafeteria erupted into its standard clamor. It was different than usual, though. Today it was a joyful noise. They were not indelicate enough to clap or cheer, but they were going about their business again. Most people sat down.

Partho was still sitting there. He had on a look of relief that Shiro recognized now, it was the one he’d seen on the face of the Galran doctor Melus.

“You can get up now,” he said. He reached out a hand toward the gecko, and then realized it was the metal one. But before he could change his mind, Partho grabbed it. Shiro pulled the gecko to his feet.

“Thank you,” said Partho.

“No,” said Shiro. “Thank you.”

He turned and saw Nyelle standing close behind him. “How much time do we have?” he asked her.

“Forty minutes.”

“All right. Forget eating. At least for me. We need to talk.”

Instead of going to a table, they found a corner of the cafeteria and sat on the floor. Shiro sat cross-legged and faced away from the crowd, hoping nobody would come bother them just yet.

“All right,” said Nyelle. “I’m listening. What did you want to tell me?”

“There’s a few things you need to know.” Shiro braced himself. He felt a little stronger now. _Just the facts. _He tried to imagine that he was giving a mission report to Commander Iverson or Admiral Sanda. “After you left,” he said. “Haggar came. She took me off the Lapix, to her laboratory at Zarkon’s main fleet. As you know, my right arm had been infected from the bite. With the help of her druids she… removed it. And installed this replacement.”

She was very solemn, reading between the lines. “Does it…” she was clearly curious. “Does it really work?”

“I mean, it moves, as you can see. It has some feeling in it, too. It seems pretty strong. Yeah, it works.”

“But…”

This was something he wouldn’t have told Iverson or Sanda. “She said something. She said it was linked to my mind.”

Nyelle looked pensive. “Hmmm. Well… you can move it, can’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I mean. She seemed to be implying that she could control me somehow. What if…” he couldn’t stop his worry from going through. “What if she changed me? She put something in my brain.” He paused to get a hold of his voice, which was getting out of control. “What do I do? I’m afraid to become just… a tool for her evil.”

Nyelle touched his flesh arm. “Shiro, listen to yourself. Clearly your moral capacity hasn’t been removed. I can tell you still care. She can’t change that.”

“I…”

She squinted. “What if she just wants you to think that she’s done something to your mind, but she actually hasn’t? Think about it. She’s trying to break your sense of integrity in any way that she can. But she hasn’t stolen your soul. I don’t think she has that kind of power. I don’t think anyone has that kind of power.”

He thought about it. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t really _feel _like his soul was gone. He had been upset and scared, but he was, perhaps, still himself. He nodded. “All right. I believe you.”

After all, he’d thought that when she deprived him of sleep for four days, she’d broken his resolve to show mercy. But it turned out that she hadn’t. It had been there all along, even if he wasn’t conscious of it.

“May I…?” she reached for his mechanical arm.

Oh.

He slowly yielded it. She started with the hand, inspecting it gently. She brushed her thumbs over the back and then turned it palm up, stretching out his fingers, feeling the black polymer that covered them like a glove. She moved her hands up and inspected the wrist. There was some kind of port or dock there under the cuff. When she reached the forearm, she ran her fingers lightly over the white polished surface. This was harder to feel, it was like a hard armor or shell.

The fact that she wasn’t repulsed by it at all encouraged him.

“When I look at this,” she said, “I don’t see Haggar. I see you. But. Even if she does have some measure of control over _this_, that doesn’t change who you are as a person.”

Her words were like a medicine that calmed his stomach and eased some of the tension from his body. He felt a warmth grow in his chest that spread out to his face and arms and hands and even, he could have sworn, to the mechanical arm.

Nyelle lifted his flesh hand and pressed it to her lips. Then she lifted his other hand and kissed the black finger-pads.

He was sure he was blushing.

“I want to help you escape,” she said. She kept holding his hands.

“Both of us,” he corrected.

“Yeah, both of us,” she said. “And…” she gestured out over the cafeteria. “All of them want to help you too.”

He looked around at the tables. “ALL of them?”

“All the ones that I’ve talked to. And when they find out about it, even second or third hand, they come up to me asking how they can help.”

Shiro was taken aback. “Wow. That’s…” And to think he’d believed that he would get no outside help. “That’s amazing. I’m touched. Really. But… isn’t that dangerous? For so many people to know?”

She nodded. “I know. But it’s out of my hands at this point. The point is, you have a huge showing of support. And I have a plan. The plan—don’t look at me like that, Shiro, I’ve done this kind of thing before.”

“Sorry,” he said, even as his mind went to how well her previous escape had ended. But no—that wasn’t her fault. Even the best laid plans may fail.

“The plan—"

“No. Don’t tell me.”

“If it will be a comfort—”

“No. Unless there’s something you need me to do, it’s better that I don’t know. Don’t tell me what you are going to do. Don’t tell me who is participating. I don’t want any names.”

She grimaced. “All right. Fine. Then I will just say… it’s happening. And I probably won’t see you again until it does.”

It was only then that he realized that their time must be up, for the bell began to ring and aliens began to rise. “Okay. I’ll try to sit tight.”

“Hang in there.” She smiled faintly.

“Be careful.” He smiled back. It felt foreign on his face, perhaps the first time since he’d gotten the arm. “I’ll see you when we escape. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you think this chapter is a pointed rebuke to the Kuron arc then you’re absolutely right


	25. Some Diagnostic Tests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some random scenes before we start gearing up for the finale of the fic

As expected, he went to the isolation block.

Time passed. There was no other way to say it. In the cell, he watched the hall through the slit-shaped window in the door, as the sentries went by again and again. He tapped his finger against the wall to count the seconds. Two groups, two minutes apart, and then seven minutes pause. It was the least he could do. If only there was something else he could do to help with the escape. But, from a strategic standpoint, it was good that there wasn’t. He couldn’t betray what he didn’t know.

The only thing he could do was wait, and speculate about Nyelle’s plan.

What kind of bargaining chips could she possibly have left? She’d already traded away her hair. He should have made her promise she wouldn’t do anything that would hurt her.

Although he wasn’t taken to the cafeteria anymore, they still took him to the gym. Only for short periods of time and at seemingly random hours, because he had to go alone. Isolation was isolation, after all.

But he needed to test the capabilities of the arm.

There was a set of dumbbells in the corner. He tested his regular arm first. He sort of knew these numbers already, but it felt right to have a concrete point of reference. Twenty pounds he set on it and curled it easily up to his shoulder. He set it down and added. Forty. He set it down again. Sixty pounds was standard for him but he could go higher if he wanted to. With effort he slowly lifted the eighty-pound weight with his human arm.

Now. To test the metal one.

He took some weight off just in case it unexpectedly turned out to be _weaker. _He didn’t think so, but better safe than sorry. He gripped the forty pound weight and stood. It went up like a feather.

With renewed confidence, he doubled the weight. And sure enough, he could match his human arm. It was heavy, but he barely even felt the strain. He didn’t want to damage the arm, but he had to know. It felt like it was moving smoothly. He added more weight.

One hundred pounds.

One hundred and twenty.

One hundred and forty. He could feel it pulling on his shoulder, trying to throw him off balance. It was slower, but he could do it.

Hesitantly, he proceeded. One hundred and fifty.

One hundred and seventy. He staggered. Amazing. He would hit the limits on the rest of his body before he found out what this thing was capable of.

But there were other ways to find out.

After a quick stretch, he found the bar, and began to try pull-ups. Two regular pull-ups, and he could already tell this was going to be easier than usual. Left arm. These were hard. He dropped down and got ready to try again. Right arm.

He jumped and grabbed the bar with the metal hand. For a minute he just hung there.

_I feel nothing._

This was like being suspended from a metal harness. He could do this all day. Well, if his shoulder didn’t get a cramp in it. He pulled himself up a few times with the metal arm and then jumped down.

Now there was only one other really important thing to test: grip strength. He wasn’t even sure they had anything here that would let him do that. But, after some searching around near the wall, he finally dug up some kind of squeezable device, that looked like it was made for alien tails more than the human hand. 

With his regular hand, he was able to give it a pretty good squeeze. Not as much as an alien tail was capable of, apparently, but some. He put the metal fingers around it and pressed down. Hard. Harder.

And something happened. His fingers _lit up._

His whole hand lit up with that violet energy that he’d seen when Haggar was hurting him. He dropped the device, startled.

The glow faded, slowly.

But it hadn’t hurt this time. It had just… happened. And he didn’t see the dark magic. Just the glow.

_Did I do that?_

He had to try it again. He bent down and reached for the grip device, only to startle again in amazement. It was ruined. Actually destroyed. The rubber padding was melted and burned out of shape, and the metal itself seemed to have been deformed.

_Impossible._

But it wasn’t. If he could do that on command…

Well, Haggar _had _said it was a weapon. This was more than just a replacement, and more than just some kind of collar or dog chip. Now he had a weapon at all times. Maybe it would help him in his escape. If he could learn to use it.

***

“Just some routine diagnostic tests,” Melus whispered to Shiro as he lay on the table. He crouched beside his right arm. “A follow-up to see how it’s integrating.”

Shiro nodded, trying to stay calm and brave. He had endured worse than some routine tests. And even then he hadn’t given in. This would be fine.

Haggar stood a distance away, behind the stats panel, her attention on the numbers rather than him.

Melus felt along the side of the arm until he found a button. There was a click and the white panel on the inner forearm swung away on a tiny hinge.

Shiro couldn’t resist looking down out of curiosity. He was looking at a panel of tiny black filaments, and red and green wires. There was a row of switches near the wrist.

Melus took a tiny pointed metal tool off a tray and began to poke around. Shiro didn’t know what he was doing, but he couldn’t feel anything.

“I’m going to do some movement tests,” said the Galran doctor.

“Fingers,” said Haggar.

Melus pressed something. Shiro’s first finger twitched involuntarily. He moved on. Second, third, fourth, fifth, and the thumb.

“Wrist.”

Melus reached down and hit a button under the table and the energy cuff on Shiro’s right wrist retracted. With another prod to the forearm his wrist rotated.

“Elbow.”

He wasn’t doing this, it was just happening. He felt his elbow bend upward then straighten again. The energy cuff came back.

“First neural uplink.”

Melus gave a quick flick to one of the switches. Shiro felt a heat spread through his arm and hand, gradually getting warmer and then slowly fading away.

“Second neural uplink.”

This one wasn’t slow at all; it was cold and quick. He gave an involuntary gasp at the sensation of his arm being immersed in ice water. However, the switch was released and it faded quickly.

“Third neural uplink.”

Melus flicked the third switch.

_Pain_.

Like when Haggar had channeled her magic through his hand, it had no clear source. But this time it was sharp and electric– there was no filter, just nerve stimulation directly through the uplink. He arched his back on the table and screamed piteously.

And then it stopped. It was just like that, on and off. He took a moment to catch his breath, trembling slightly.

Melus had jumped back in dismay. Haggar’s lips quirked upwards behind the panel.

“Haha. I like that. Do it again.”

Melus looked at Shiro, distressed, and then back at Haggar. “M… my Lady.”

“Do it.”

“My Lady…”

Haggar narrowed her yellow eyes. The terror on the doctor’s face was evident, but he did not move.

“You are dismissed, Melus.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” he breathed. He stood up and grabbed his bag.

“Permanently.”

Melus made no reply. He gave Shiro one last sorrowful glance, then practically ran out the door. It closed behind him.

Haggar stepped away from the panel. She walked around to Shiro’s right side where the doctor had been. Then she leaned over the table, steadying herself by placing a hand on his chest. He was sure she could feel his beating heart and the heaving of his breath. He closed his eyes, willing himself away from her presence.

“Let me tell you about the future,” said Haggar. “You have two more appearances. Your next match will be against your rival for the first rank. He has been training all season to defeat you. You will kill him and officially take the title of this year’s Champion. The week after that will be the finale. Only then will you be ready to become my weapon. Do you remember the finale, Shiro?”

He remembered.

“Do you remember what _happens_ in the finale?”

_Yes._

“I will not be disappointed.”

She pressed her finger to the third neural uplink.


	26. Arm and Hammer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHERE HAVE ALL THE GOOD MEN GONE AND WHERE ARE ALL THE GODS

There was one week left until the 1024 season finale.

However, today was a momentous occasion in its own right. Today the two most highly-ranked fighters of the season would be pitted against each other to compete for the title of Champion.

Shiro crouched in the dugout. At least for this fight he was in good physical condition. None of the ailments he’d suffered before remained. However… he didn’t _want _to win the championship. Haggar had seemed to insinuate that if he won, she would make him into a weapon of war for the Galra. And that was intolerable.

If only there was a way out of this. That is, another way besides death in the ring.

_Escape._

But escape seemed to be so long in coming. When was Nyelle’s plan set for? There must be a date. He’d been hoping that maybe it was today. But nothing had happened yet.

_Patience._

He promised her he would sit tight. Just a little longer.

Shiro watched through the iron grate. Something else was going on out there, something a little different.

The alien reporter that he’d seen after his fight with Myzax walked out onto the field. She had pink skin and a hairlike crest, and wore a loose red dress glittering in the lights of the arena. And once again she was encased in that blue bubble.

She held a microphone, and her words echoed around the arena. “Good evening everyone! One again, this is Aphraxa Beezer for the Empire Championships! Before our final fight to decide this year’s champion, we’ll be having pre-match interviews with the individual combatants. I’d like everybody to give a warm welcome to Burm from Planet Idrassa!”

Then the other gate opened and Burm came out. He was a hulking creature with white-and-gray mottled skin, that dragged his knuckles on the ground as he walked. Like Myzax, he had some armor – a breastplate and arm braces.

And this time, Shiro had been given the same. He was wearing real, proper clothing, not the prisoner’s uniform and tattered purple shirt, but an actual tough undershirt and leggings, a breastplate made of the same white casing as his arm, and greaves of the same material.

Burm lumbered out to the center of the ring.

“Good evening, Burm!” smiled Aphraxa. “You’re certainly looking fearsome tonight. We’ve seen you in previous appearances and you’ve certainly worked hard to reach this point. Are you feeling optimistic about your chances in the ring tonight?”

Burm grunted. “I won all the other fights. I will win this one.”

“Amazing confidence! I love it. So tell us, Burm, what is your favorite weapon that you’ve fought with?”

“Hammer. I like the hammer. It’s strong.”

“Well, then, we have something good for you tonight!” The far gate opened and a Galra came out toting an iron hammer of comically large proportions. Next to Burm, however, it looked just right. The audience cheered.

Burm took the hammer, which was at least five feet from end to end, in his large fist and pounded the ground with it twice. There was a ground-shaking thump and a puff of dust rose into the air. The audience roared harder.

“All right, one last question,” said Aphraxa. “Is there anything you’d like to say to your opponent before the fight?”

“Tell him I will not show mercy. I do not care what they say about him. He will die.”

“Okay then! And now please to make way for our second interview.”

Burm lumbered back to the gate. Only once it was closed did Shiro’s gate open.

He walked out toward the center. Aphraxa was standing there, eyes wide inside her blue bubble. She did look a little nervous of him. That was funny. She hadn’t even been afraid of Burm.

“Good evening, Shiro,” she said. “Would you like to interview today?”

He surprised himself. “Yes.”

She walked up closer to him. That blue bubble. He could have reached out and touched it. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

He could reach _through _it. He could. Nobody could stop him. It would take less than a second. He could plunge his metal arm through that barrier and take her by the throat. He had a sudden vision of it. She would be his hostage. He could make demands. _Let me and Nyelle go or she dies._ They wouldn’t dare not comply on live television.

But.

By attacking Aphraxa, he’d undermine his and Nyelle’s whole campaign. Maybe he’d even undo any good they’d already done. And he’d never get another opportunity to speak to this audience. He’d hoped to get a message to them, and there was no more direct way than to speak. And lastly, well… even though his threat against her life would be a bluff, he was uncomfortable with it as a notion. She was innocent. Well… sort of.

He’d hated her, before. The first time. But he didn’t hate her now. She was another Partho, or Borix, or Melus, perhaps.

In a way, this was the sorest temptation he’d yet faced. 

“Shiro?”

“Um… what? Sorry.” He’d missed the question.

“You know what they’re saying about you, right?”

“What… no, I don’t.”

“They’re saying that you’re different than anyone who’s ever fought in the arena. I think we all remember the fight with the Panthokrator. Nobody here had ever seen anything like that before. We were all touched by your love affair with Nyelle the Herdazian. They’re saying that she changed you from a bloodthirsty monster, and brought out another side of you.”

Um.

“That’s not _exactly_ what happened.”

“Do you mind telling us what happened, then? You’ve clearly changed, and I think we’re all dying to know.”

“I never wanted blood, Aphraxa.”

“What?” Her black eyes widened in surprise.

He continued in the most matter-of-fact way he knew how. “My fellow earthling was in the dugout with me. He was ahead of me in line to fight Myzax the Champion. He was weaker and smaller than me, and I was trying to get ahead of him in line. That’s all.”

“So it was an act!”

“Yes.”

“Well, it was a very convincing one! And yet you remain undefeated in the ring. Bloodthirst or not, your fighting skills are truly impressive, Shiro. Do you think you’re going to win this fight?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“All right, fair enough.” She smiled encouragingly. “Well then, have a good—”

“Wait.”

She stopped.

“Can I say one more thing? To the audience?”

Aphraxa hesitated, and looked around the stadium. But whatever she saw must have encouraged her, for she held out the microphone towards him. “Sure, go for it.”

“Please. You know this is wrong. Most of the people here don’t even want to fight. They’re just normal people who were forced into this by circumstance and most of them just want to survive. By watching, you’re contributing to their suffering and deaths. Please be better than this. I know you ca—”

And the microphone cut out.

Aphraxa’s face became terrified; she hurried out of the ring. Her bubble lifted her over the wall and she was gone.

Shiro stood alone in the arena, his arm his only defense.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. WE PRESENT.”

Multicolored lights began to dance over the sand.

“THE FINAL TOURNAMENT ROUND OF THE 1024 EMPIRE CHAMPIONSHIPS! SHIRO FROM PLANET EARTH VERSUS BURM FROM PLANET IDRASSA!”

And Burm’s door opened.

The creature emerged from the door, and he was so big he had to stoop to get through it. His eyes were set far apart on his cattle-like face.

He bellowed and stormed for Shiro immediately. Shiro didn’t bother offering a surrender. He’d listened to the pre-game interview. He knew this opponent would not back down.

Shiro ran out of the creature’s path. Burm just turned and stormed again. He was surprisingly fast, and Shiro had to keep moving. He was surprised to find himself on the defensive so quickly. It was entirely possible that Burm could simply tire him out. He could see how this creature had won all the other matches – its energy was astonishing.

Shiro started trying to move around the creature’s back. But the Idrassan didn’t lose track of his prey. He simply pivoted with a horizontal swing of the hammer. His reach was long, and the hammer was longer. In total, he cleared a circle with a radius of more than fifteen feet. Shiro knew he couldn’t approach that circle without getting caught in the legs.

But maybe there would be an opening if he could get Burm to attack him a different way.

Once he had made a reasonable distance between himself and the Idrassan, he planted his feet in the sand, taking a firm stance. He could only hope this strategy worked, because if it didn’t, he would be dead.

Burm charged. And as he charged, he raised the iron hammer back over his head. Up, up, up.

Shiro braced himself.

Then down.

He punched his fist into the air, taking the entire force of the blow through his metal arm. The arm and hammer met with a resounding clash. There was a shower of golden sparks. Shiro’s feet drove into the sand.

Burm reeled backwards.

And Shiro seized the moment. His metal arm still tingled strangely from absorbing all that force, but he leaped, and dealt Burm a blow to the stomach with it.

Burm gathered his hammer and tried for the side-swing, but Shiro was now at too close quarters. The Idrassan was forced to let go of the hammer with one hand to go after Shiro. Shiro took the opportunity and went for the hammer with his metal arm. A blow to the Idrassan’s wrist and he involuntarily dropped the weapon.

Unfortunately he couldn’t stop Burm from dealing him a powerful punch. Shiro went head-over-heels across the sand.

_No. _He had to get to that hammer before Burm picked it back up. He rolled to his feet and charged back into close quarters. This time when he grabbed Burm’s wrist, he _squeezed._

The Idrassan let out a roar as his wrist shattered.

Shiro went for the hammer, which was lying on the sand. Ordinarily he wouldn’t even have been able to lift it. But with his metal arm, he was able to grab it just below the head and drag it away.

Burm watched with fury in his eyes. Shiro knew he couldn’t swing it. But he wasn’t planning to. All he had to do was get far enough away. He braced the haft against the ground, pulled the hammer up to eye level, and _squeezed_. His hand lit brilliantly.

Burm’s eyes widened in horror.

The light grew brighter and the metal glowed with heat. There was a hissing sound, a smell like ozone and a wisp of black smoke.

Shiro dropped the pieces of the hammer.

“Surrender, Burm.”

“Victory or death!” Burm roared.

_Why do they always have to be like this?_

And he ducked out of the way as Burm, now weaponless, charged. The creature had one working fist but he was determined to use it. Shiro did his best to feint to the creature’s left, which was the side of its broken wrist.

But Burm was a clever fighter. He caught Shiro in the back with his elbow instead. Shiro fell onto the sand face first, and Burm lifted his good fist, which was larger than Shiro’s head, to pummel him into the ground.

Shiro rolled over just in time and lifted his metal arm, fully lit, to defend. It sizzled through the Idrassan’s flesh like butter. Burm roared again.

Now with two bad fists, Burm staggered back. He seemed to be rethinking the fight.

_Good._

Shiro pursued him as far as the wall. Burm seemed surprised to find himself up against it. He was bleeding ferociously from a grisly wound in his hand that defied bones or structure – he had lost most of his fingers.

As Shiro watched, Burm slowly went to his knees. It was clear that he was in a great deal of pain, and didn’t know how to attack.

The audience was silent as well. There was no chanting this time. No cheering. They were waiting to see what he would do.

Shiro walked forward slowly and guardedly. Burm didn’t move. When he got close enough, he lurched and pressed his hand against the Idrassan’s throat, pinning his head against the wall.

_You would have been justified._

And yet.

“Surrender, Burm.”

Burm groaned faintly. Defeat was in his eyes, and a flicker of fear. “I surre—"

Shiro’s hand lit up unprompted.

He leaped back in shock, but it was too late. The Idrassan’s head lolled and there was the smell of burnt flesh.

Horror overtook him. _He’s dead. I killed him. _

He’d surrendered, but now he was dead.

“_No_.” He kept backing away. He could hear his own whisper, quiet and strained. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“THE WINNER OF THE 1024 EMPIRE CHAMPIONSHIPS IS SHIRO FROM PLANET EARTH!”

There was _some_ kind of noise from the audience, he wasn’t sure what it was, he didn’t care. Shiro clutched the hand.

_Haggar._

She had done this. She could make him kill. She _could._

“CONGRATULATIONS, CHAMPION!”

If he had taken Aphraxa hostage, she would be dead right now. The producers might have let it happen, but there was no way Haggar would have let him get away with it.

_What now? What now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even I struggled with this plotline, because sometimes the morally gray choice is just... well... Cool.


	27. Seeing Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was going along I realized I had forgotten to title this chapter! So I just searched through and came up with something.  
TW for this chapter for suicide discussion

“Good job, Borix.” Nyelle sat down at the table with her tray. “I think we might actually have enough people to pull it off now.”

Borix shrugged with his top hands. “Yeah, nah, it was no problem. So what’s the plan? What are you going to do?”

She smiled at him. “I can’t tell you my part, Borix. I know how much you like to talk. And you’ve done that well. But my part is my part. As for your part…” She went to throw her hair behind her shoulders, and touched air. She wasn’t used to this haircut yet.

“We need to create a distraction. Something to keep them occupied while Shiro and I are escaping. I was thinking a riot.”

“Riot, huh? Sounds good. I’m always down to riot.”

Yoo pounded his fists and spork on the table. “Riot! Riot! Riot!”

“Shhhh Yoo!” she hushed him. “Be quiet. Somebody will hear you.”

The Erusian didn’t chant anymore but kept banging his chubby fists on the table.

“But when? You must have heard what happened yesterday,” said Borix.

“No. What happened yesterday?”

“It was the last tournament match. Shiro fought the other first-rank competitor.”

“He did win…?” she leaned forward anxiously.

“Yes. But… what I heard, what I _heard_…” Borix leaned forward too and cupped all four hands around his mouth. “There were pre-game interviews. He started saying some kind of thing about how the games were wrong and people should stop watching them. They cut his mic.”

“_What?_” Her eyes widened, astonished.

“Then they set him against this big guy. Supposedly Shiro told him to surrender. Three times.”

“But he didn’t.”

“He did. The third time.”

“Wh…what happened?”

“Shiro killed him.”

“_What?_”

“But it was weird. It was wrong. Something happened. They say he was surprised. It upset him. He just kept saying he didn’t mean to do it.”

Nyelle sat back hard. “Haggar.”

Borix tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We were talking about it. He thought she had the ability to control him through his arm. Looks like he was right.”

Borix frowned. “Drink some of that water, Nyelle, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She had seen many ghosts.

“You realize what this means.”

“…no?”

“Next episode is the season finale. Haggar’s champion takes all comers.”

Even Borix looked a little disturbed at that. “Oh.”

“We have to get him out of here before that can happen.”

***

It was the worst possible outcome.

Shiro sat on the thin mattress in the isolation cell, staring at the kevlar hand. She couldn’t take his soul, but she could take his body. She made him kill Burm.

There were only six days left until it happened.

The finale. Dozens of innocents slaughtered. And after that… Haggar’s weapon.

There had to be a way to stop this. He held the wrist firmly with his left hand and activated the arm’s power.

Lights on. It hummed and glowed.

Off again. On again. Off again.

Well, he could control it _now. _But not all the time.

He wanted to rip it off. Destroy it. Smash it, throw it into a fire. But he’d already seen that it was practically indestructible.

On. Off. On. Off.

Maybe it could burn itself off. But he couldn’t reach any more than he could touch his own elbow. Such a silly thing to be defeated by.

He reached up and ran the hand across his neck.

It was something he never thought he’d consider.

_No._

He had to have faith. He was going to escape. Nyelle was coming. He had promised to escape with her.

_Please come quickly._

If she didn’t come before the finale, he would fight the guards who came to take him to the ring. He’d fight anyone who came for him.

_And if I die, I die. _

***

It was a big day.

Arius Opalthorpe sat in the crow’s nest, looking down over the arena. The season finale would be tonight, and there were already a few stragglers in the stands.

He’d had a little trouble selling tickets lately. However, he was sure the pre-game entertainment would draw them in. It was something he always did to ensure attendance for the finale. Music; then a couple of pre-game skirmishes as a warm-up. One year they’d even flooded the arena to host a fight between rival Mer-clans.

This year, he’d had another one of those Panthokrators caught and hidden in the wings. He knew that one had been popular this year. He could match it against another beast or have one of the gladiators fight it.

But first, a couple of skirmishes. The lower weight-classes weren’t as exciting, they were practically disposable. They were mostly interesting to the type of viewer who really kept track of species stats. He’d had some of them moved up to cells one through ten just for this occasion.

He leaned back in his rolling-chair, putting his feet up on the sound deck. “Why don’t we get the first match started?” he suggested. It was only six o’ clock. They still had plenty of time. The last shift of prisoners was even still taking their meal in the cafeteria.

“All right then, sir,” said his intern, a slender gray-skinned Alkari with skeletal features. “In cells one and two we have a Puigian and a Krellian. Will that suffice?”

“Sounds about right. Get ‘em out there.”

Arius seized the mic.

“GOOOOOD AFTERNOON LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” Usually he had the intern do the speaking, but for now his own voice would suffice. “WE’VE GOT SOMETHING COMING UP JUST FOR YOU EARLY-COMERS, A COUPLE LIGHT SKIRMISHES JUST TO WARM THINGS UP. A PUIGIAN FROM PUIG…….”

He waited. The left gate opened and a sentry shoved the pretty Puigian with its pink facial stripes into the ring.

“VERSUS A KRELLIAN FROM KRELL! IT’S HAND TO FEELER, FOLKS! ARE WE READY? KRELLIANS HAVE THE UPPER HAND RECENTLY, BUT ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN!”

The Krellian was a blue beetle-like creature of about three feet in height. It crawled out into the ring, then stood up on its back legs to look around.

“FIGHT!”

Arius let go of the mic and sat back to watch.

It took him a minute to realize nothing was happening. They were just standing there, the Puigian and the Krellian.

He whipped his feet down and slammed the soundboard with his fist, swearing so loudly the entire room jumped and looked at him. “Quiznack! Fight!”

Arius stood, gripped the soundboard, and just stared at the ring. “Rezo!” he shouted at the Alkari intern. “Give the order to take them away. Who else do we have?”

The intern flinched. “A Balmeran and a Taujeerian, sir.”

“I want to see them in the ring! Stat!”

Moments after the order was issued, sentries dragged the two combatants off the ring. Thankfully not too many people had been around to see this, but more were showing up all the time. Priority seating at the bottom rows was starting to fill.

Several minutes passed. Arius’s heart was thumping as the gates opened again for the Balmeran and the Taujeerian.

“Rezo, make the announcement.” He couldn’t do it. He knew he wouldn’t sound happy.

Rezo’s familiar tones echoed about the stadium. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN FOR OUR WARM-UP FIGHT! WE HAVE PRONT FROM THE BALMERA! VERSUS! MEZZZ FROM TAUJEER!”

There was a breathless silence in the crow’s nest. They watched the combatants. The Taujeerian just sat there like the slug that it was. It should have been a clear victory for the Balmeran. But she wasn’t taking it. She actually sat down on the sand.

Arius stomped his hoofs on the ground, and then kicked the soundboard. It toppled, caught only by Rezo’s quick hand. He could hardly think through rage and panic. “My show! My _quiznacking_ show is being ruined!”

Compared to last season’s finale, the attendance was _already _pitiful. Ratings had never been lower. These creatures wouldn’t fight. And he knew whose fault it was.

It was the Earthling’s fault.

He wanted to make that Earthling _bleed. _He wanted to make him suffer.

But he couldn’t, because Haggar’s champion was out of his jurisdiction. Arius wanted to scream from how unfair it all was.

But… it wasn’t just the Earthling. It was _them. Both _of them.

“Bring me that Herdazian!” he yelled at Rezo. “Bring me that _damn_ Herdazian!”


	28. Nyelle's Plan

Nyelle knew something was different when an actual Galra, not a sentry, came to her at her cell.

“One of the producers wants to see you,” he said. She knew this Galra, and she didn’t like him. His name was Quello.

“He does?” she asked. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know. That’s none of my business.”

“Tell him I’m willing to do the interview.”

The Galra bared his teeth in surprise. “Tell him…?”

“You can, right?”

She saw Quello’s hand go to his comm link. He _did _have one.

“Please. It might make him less angry by the time I get there.”

Quello pressed the button. “Rezo.” He paused briefly. “She says she wants to do some sort of interview. Do you know what the quiznack she’s talking about?”

There was another pause.

Then Quello snarled down at Nyelle through the blue screen. “He says you better be telling the truth, because if this is just a plot to get into that fancy locker room, you’re dead.”

Nyelle fell to her knees. “The locker room didn’t even enter my mind. I swear.”

“All right. Get up then.” Quello turned the force screen off and jerked her up by the wrist.

***

The Galran maid snapped a brush through Nyelle’s hair, ragged about the ears. She apparently had even less patience this time than before. “This looks terrible. Did you do it yourself?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll try to work with it.” She pulled out a pair of scissors. A light shower of fuzz began to fall around Nyelle’s shoulders.

***

Whoever was doing the fashion design around here was a bit gaudy. Nyelle had the sense that she was wearing one of Aphraxa Beezer’s old getups as she pulled on a white, glittering (again) gown with an enormous flower puff on the shoulder. The bottom of the skirt faded from white to a deep purple, but was still studded with the white gemstones, like day fading into a star-studded twilight.

“Sit. Makeup.”

Nyelle snatched the eyeliner pencil from the Galran in grim determination.

***

The door of Arius Opalthorpe’s office opened.

He stood there, a good head shorter than her, his hair and coat messy. However, he gave a tight smile, with something like satisfaction.

“I’ll do it,” said Nyelle. “I’ll say whatever you want.”

“You better,” he growled, “because if you don’t, I’ll kill you.” He jabbed a finger into her chest. “You’re _ruining_ my show. Only you can fix this.”

She suppressed the smile that came to her lips, and merely looked at down at him without fear from half-lidded eyes. _It’s too late. No one can fix this anymore._

“Leave us,” said Arius to Quello. “Just stand outside.”

Quello nodded conspiratorially and shut the door behind them.

There was a small window over Arius’s desk looking out into the hall. It was covered; the blinds were turned down, but she could still see Quello’s dark shape standing outside the door.

There were no spectators or hangers-on this time. Maybe they were all too afraid of the co-producer’s wrath. Maybe they were too busy. There was barely more than an hour until the finale was to begin.

“Get in the quiznacking chair.” Arius adjusted the camera himself, with a smack.

Nyelle sat down carefully.

_Only ticks now._

The red light came on.

“You _will_ tell them to stop. You never meant for this to happen. This is disgraceful, it’s shameful, you regret your actions. The Championships must go on for the glory of the Empire.”

Outside the window, Quello’s claws went to his ear. Then his shadow moved away.

Nyelle hesistated. “I…I…”

Arius glared, but didn’t stop her.

“Please,” she said, her voice full of emotion. “This is shameful. It’s disgraceful. It has to stop.”

Arius nodded. She could see the key ring on his belt. There were several small metal keys, likely for the filing cabinets in this room, and one little device hanging there about the size and shape of a memory chip. _The key code._

She kept ad libbing. “Several weeks ago I was part of an episode where Champion Shiro and I were set against each other in the ring.” She trailed off.

“What? Go on.”

Nyelle got to her feet.

“What are you do—”

She dove for the keys.

Arius tried to get out of the way but he was caught in the tripod, which toppled as Nyelle crashed into it. She snagged the ring with her fingers and pulled it from his belt loop with a ripping sound, while kicking him in the hairy little goat shins with her stillettos.

“Ow—"

Nyelle went for the door. She burst out into the hall with a clang. It was empty. She kicked off her heels and ran.

***

“QUELLO! STOP HER! SOMEBODY STOP HER!”

Where was that Galra? He’d abandoned them, that’s what. It was desertion. It was treason. She’d _attacked him_, and she was getting away.

Arius didn’t usually wear the comms, preferring to leave the ear-chatter to his intern, but he had one in his office. He slammed a drawer open, and a rain of ticket-stubs fell to the ground.

He jammed the comm into his ear. “This is Arius Opalthorpe! Get security up to the offices immediately! We have a prisoner at large!”

“Is it a dangerous prisoner?” a Galra voice crackled back.

“_What?_ What difference does that make? Get your asses up here! I want her caught!”

“Well, it’ll be a few minutes. We kind of have a situation down here.”

Arius’s face reddened like a coal. “What kind of _situation_ could _possibly_ be more important than _this_?”

***

Plates and mash flew through the air in the cafeteria.

On top of a table, the Alkari sisters threw hands. They weren’t really trying to hurt each other, but a riot had to start somewhere. They couldn’t quit now. Everything was glorious chaos.

The yellow amphibian upended a table, and a Balmeran ran for it, smashing his head through the cheap aluminum. A short distance away, two of the caterpillars held a slappy fight with all six of their arms.

The Galra cook staff had all fled when a Razog had roared in their faces, and now the kitchen was empty. But not for long. Borix jumped the counter.

This had all started less than five minutes from the scheduled end of the period. Now they were dragging it out five minutes past… ten minutes past… every second they could gain bought more time.

The two Galra guards who usually watched over their meal had blocked themselves outside the doors, waiting for reinforcements.

Borix pulled up the lid of the food case. Hey, there WAS some left. He grabbed spoons in all four arms. With one he ate, with the other three he flung mash over the counter.

Yoo stood on one of the tables, wielding a spork like a weapon, and screamed with eardrum-shattering rage.

The door burst open. Reinforcements had arrived.

“STAND D—” they didn’t even get to finish. The Balmeran charged. The Razog’s tail ripped away one of their blasters and tossed it to Partho the Erbian. 

Yoo was a peach-colored ball of fury, bouncing around like a piece of bubble gum, if bubble gum had a shell and could kick ass. His feet connected with the guard’s face.

Borix flung more plates and then went looking for a door in the back of the kitchen. This was great. Probably wouldn’t end well, but it was great. If only Nyelle could see this. If only _Shiro_ could see this.

***

Ulaz was on board the _Lapix_.

Like most of the other guards, he’d been ordered to attend to the riot. He was on his way there, but taking his time.

One week ago, Thace had sent him a bootlegged copy of the speech. He may not have watched the show, but apparently, some space pirates had put together a compilation that was being heavily circulated in certain resistance spheres. It spliced the greatest failures of the Championships into an easily digestible form, which Ulaz watched with a mix of horror and delight.

There was the Earthling’s first victory; the unexpected death of Myzax. There was the match between the new Champion and a female Herdazian, a match where both of them refused to fight. The Panthokrator had been set on them both. There were momentary snatched clips of some kind of unaired interview with the Herdazian. And lastly, there was the Champion’s speech. They’d cut his mic, but it was too late.

Ulaz couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d come to the _Lapix_ intending to free Shiro.

But now… everything was going haywire. He was a resistance fighter and the only person who had an actual sense of the situation at hand. But these prisoners weren’t making it easy for him to get things done.

Why was he the only one who could see how all of this was headed toward tragedy?

They were only going to get themselves killed. They didn’t know, as he did, that the four aliens who had refused to fight had already been shot. However… he could appreciate their zeal. This Champion had stirred them to something they would have otherwise never accomplished.

Here was a man who understood the ideals of the Blades. The courage and ruthless self-discipline. The absolute iron-willed dedication to the cause of his people. But there was something else, in addition to all of that. Something warmer, that the Blades were perhaps less familiar with.

A voice buzzed in his ear.

“This is Arius Opalthorpe! Get security up to the offices immediately! We have a prisoner at large!”

It was a general address, not specifically targeted at him, but something about it made him hesitate. Ulaz turned his steps back towards the offices.

Two halls up, a door slid open in front of him. It was the Herdazian. She was shoeless, in a glittering white-and-violet gown. Her hair was cut off around the ears and she had a key chip in her hand.

She began to dash down the hall, and the door slid shut behind her. When she saw him, she slowed, then stopped about thirty feet away. Her eyes widened. She began to slowly back up.

Ulaz just stood, not pursuing, but not moving aside. He could not break his cover. He looked her in the eye, wishing he could tell her everything.

_Let me do this._

Instead, he held out a hand. “Stop. What you’re trying to do—it won’t work. Your mission is doomed.”

She just eyed him back. It was a tense standoff for several seconds. Then she seemed to realize that he was not going to apprehend her. She took off running again, and sprinted past him, down the hall he’d come from.

Ulaz watched after her, but did not pursue. When she had looked at him he had recognized something in her eyes. It was that same determination and single-minded dedication to an ideal that he had no choice but to respect.

One day they would all meet their end from something they were devoted to. The Blades understood that better than anyone. Who was he to stop her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYBODY WAS KUNG FU FIGHTING


	29. Escape

He had no choice but to mark the day of the finale. The days had ticked by one by one. Then he waited—one hour after another—pacing back and forth. Any moment. Any moment. Any moment.

The door went up.

_Haggar._

It was her, the witch. She strode in with her purple robe trailing behind her. “My champion.”

If only it had been someone else. The sentries. The Galra. Even that bastard Quello. But Haggar was the only person alive who could still take him somewhere he didn’t want to go.

“It is time to go to the arena.”

“You’ll have to kill me first.” His voice hitched through his breathing.

“I doubt that.” Haggar raised a hand and there was darkness. It was like that first time, a sea of black, with no one but herself and him.

“I’m not falling for this again.” He planted his feet.

Haggar frowned. “You will do as I tell you.” There was a sound behind him. He looked over his shoulder. In the distance a wall of fire appeared. It raced toward him. Haggar vanished into smoke.

The fire came closer and closer. It rose high into the blackness, casting phantom light on him. He could feel the heat. Surely he must move or it would consume him. Surely he must move—

Shiro closed his eyes. His heart was beating like a drum. He dropped to his knees. He would _not _move.

The fire passed over him harmlessly, and the only thing he felt was a faint cool breeze.

It was an illusion. Illusions were all she could do here. Even the darkness was an illusion.

Haggar materialized again, and this time her face had twisted into anger. “As you wish. We shall do this the hard way.”

She again stretched out a hand, and he felt his arm begin to move against his will. It extended, reaching out to Haggar. She touched it.

_Burn her._

He could not. She could activate the power, and she could take it away as well.

Golden light, the color of quintessence, streamed from her eyes. Her dark energy flowed through him. He could feel it in the arm, running up through the shoulder, and – Lord have mercy – down into his body. It ran from right arm to left, from chest to hips, from hips to legs.

He stood.

_No._

“I’ll kill you, witch,” he breathed in panic and desperation. “I’ll kill you.”

He walked.

***

Nyelle kept moving towards the lower cellblock, holding the Galra cruiser’s master key. Every door she reached, she pressed the key to the pad and it slid open before her. It was working. It was _working. _The riot had come through. She was free—in a way. Even that strange Galran in the hallway with his threats hadn’t stopped her.

_Shiro. Where is he?_

She had a general idea. Right about now, he had to be in the dugout, the sandy waiting chamber, preparing to go on. But there were two. Which one was it?

She ran along the circular hallway that surrounded the base of the arena. Overhead she could hear the deep sound of people moving up and down stairs—feet, tentacles, legs and hoofs. There were no guards here—not any more. They were all one floor up, dealing with the situation in the cafeteria.

On the inner wall she found a door. This had to be it. She’d been here before. Nyelle pressed the chip to the keypad. It glowed, and the door opened on the sandy dugout.

A group of terrified aliens in their bodysuits and shredded purple shirts turned towards her.

_Not him._

She didn’t have time to stop or explain the situation to them. She left the door open and kept moving.

There were doors on the outside of the hall, too. She could only hope he wasn’t in one of those. The next most likely place was the far bay.

And there it was – the large rectangular door appeared around the curve in the hallway. She ran faster.

And then stopped, panting heavily.

Arius Opalthorpe had stepped out in front of her. Even a round little fellow like him could hide behind one of those convenient Galran engaged columns.

Nyelle took a step back.

He grinned humorlessly. “I thought I’d find you here.”

She took another step back – and hit something. That thing was Quello the Galran. She could feel the prickles of his fur through his shirt. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back so hard that she gasped. “Gotcha.”

From her other hand he pried the key, then twisted that arm too, and held both wrists with one of his enormous hands. Finally, he pulled a small knife and held it to her throat. “Don’t try anything.”

With Nyelle thus subdued, Arius approached.

“You lying brat,” he spat through his teeth, enunciating each word. His face had darkened to a muddy, almost brick red. “You _filthy_ whore. You ruin my show. You mouth off to me on the camera. And now you attack me in my own office. How dare you. How _dare_ you?”

Nyelle kept silent until Quello twisted her arm harder and she let out another choked gasp.

“Don’t just stand there!” He shoved a finger into her chest. “Say something, bitch! What got into your stupid little head? Tell me!”

Nyelle tilted her chin back and looked Arius in the eye. “I had to. I _love_ him.”

Arius was silent for a moment, taking small trembling breaths. Then he seemed to make up his mind. “You say that to me now? _Now_? After all this you have the audacity, the quiznacking _audacity_ to say that _now_? Quello.”

The Galran gripped her wrists tighter.

“Put out her eyes.”

Quello grinned and pulled his knife. “With pleasure.”

***

Shiro lay in the sand where the witch’s foul possession had left him. Slowly he regained control over his arms and legs, and got onto his hands and knees.

He could move again. But he was here. He could hear the crowd outside and above, he could even see them a little bit.

_This is your last chance._

Haggar would puppet him out of here, and then he would be forced to kill those creatures, one after another, the weak, the unarmed, the Parthos and the Matt Holts. And then she would take him and he would become her weapon to subjugate the universe, maybe even _Earth._ And she would use him to kill again. And again. And again.

_Now._

He lit up the hand. It glowed violet and hummed with heat.

He dimmed it again.

On. Off. He had control.

_It’s now or never. You have to do it now._

The very thought galled him.

A sound pulled him back to the world of life. He heard screaming.

He instinctively looked out to the ring, but there was nothing there. No, this sound was coming from just beyond the _other _door, out in the hall. It was high and thin, a woman’s piercing wail. But there was something about it that was intimately familiar. This was the sound of incomprehensible agony. This was what he felt when they took his arm.

And that voice – he recognized that voice.

_Nyelle._

“NYELLE!”

He scrambled to his feet against the door, banging on it once, twice, three times. “NYELLE!”

The screams continued. He had to get out there. He _had _to get out there _had to had to had to_

Shiro lit his hand (he’d never tried, somehow, never thought of this before?) and plunged it into the door. The metal squealed. Jagged lines began to appear behind his fingers. He flattened them into a blade and pressed harder. Sparks flew.

Dragging his hand through the tough metal, Shiro carved a large hole in the door. The center fell out with a clang and he stepped through into the hall.

There were three people there. He noticed two of them. There was Nyelle, and there was a tall, furry Galra guard with a knife pressed to her face.

He didn’t hesitate for even a second, but leaped for Quello. His fist swung a wide arc, trailing purple light like a streamer.

Quello’s skull cracked and burned like an egg. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Nyelle collapsed, but Shiro was just in time to catch her before she hit the ground. He barely spared a glance for the other alien, who was running away as fast as his legs would carry him.

He knelt with Nyelle and dragged her farther from Quello’s body. She still squirmed in agony. Her face was covered in blood. Blood streamed down from… her _eyes_. Oh, her _eyes. _They were too terrible to look at. There was no way they could see.

She moaned.

“Nyelle, it’s me.” Pain swelled in his heart.

Her hands moved, he offered her his hand and she clutched it tightly, her fingernails pressing into his skin.

“I’m here.” He didn’t know what else to say. She kept moaning pitifully. “I’m here.” It was a few minutes of nothing but stricken horror. She had come. She came and this was what had happened.

His vision blurred and he tried to blink it away, but when he tasted salt he realized he hadn’t really succeeded. That bastard Quello—but he was dead now. He was dead and there was nothing else to be done. Nothing except…

“We’re getting out of here,” he whispered to her as he stroked her hair.

“Shiro…” she choked. “I can’t.”

“I’ll carry you.” He started gathering her into his arms.

“I can’t… I’m… I’m going to die.” Her face crunched up again.

“No, don’t say that! You can live. There must be a way.”

“You have to escape. Take… take the key and escape.”

“I can’t leave you behind,” he said determinedly. “I promised, remember?”

She clearly did not have it in her to argue further. “Get the key,” she said. “He took it from me.”

A quick search of Quello’s pocket revealed the key chip.

“Is this it?” he put it into her hand.

“Yes. Shiro… give me your hand.”

He gave her his flesh hand.

“Other one.”

She felt her way up the fingers to the wrist cuff. Then, to his surprise, she took the chip and pressed it into the data slot. “There.”

“Let’s go.” Shiro took a look around the hallway. Whatever it was that had caused the area to be free of guards couldn’t last too much longer. He scooped Nyelle up in his arms. It was time to escape.

He couldn’t run while carrying her, but he could hurry. Shiro walked as fast as he could. There were doors on the outside of the ring. He didn’t know which one was the right one, but he might as well try. He set his metal palm to the keypad. It flashed with yellow light and the door opened.

It was only the darkness of a holding bay. Several small creatures like miniature deer brayed loudly and stampeded out, setting off down the hall.

Well. If he could make a ruckus, that might at least stall them for a while. Shiro kept hurrying down the hall, opening every door he came to. More and more animals ran out into the hall. Roughly fifty white mice. A green buffalo. A three-tentacled octopus slithered down the hall in the opposite direction.

One of these doors had to lead out.

He opened the next one. There was a musty draft, and then a great creature emerged from the bay. An enormous lizard-cat nearly seventeen feet long. _The Panthokrator._

He staggered back with Nyelle, but the Panthokrator ignored him completely. It stalked into the hall, shook its head and tail with a growl, and then made a powerful leap over their heads and bounded off down the hall.

Shiro kept hurrying.

_Come on. Which way is the hangar?_

Finally he found a door that led to a hallway. He carried Nyelle through it and set off through the lower cellblock of the _Lapix_, deep into the bowels of the ship.


	30. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it the fic is almost over

Arius Opalthorpe ran for the exit as though his life, his very life depended on it. If only he could remember which of these doors it had been.

That _man_, that Champion, like a dark creature from a nightmare, had emerged out of nowhere, cutting through solid steel. He’d killed a seven-foot Galra right in front of his eyes.

Arius kept running, huffing and puffing. A group of aliens appeared round the bend in the hallway, running the other direction. They parted around him, frightened and chattering, like he wasn’t even there. They had on the slave’s uniform, the purple and gray.

They must have been the ones who were about to go on. Where did they think they were going? The champion was back there. He’d kill them.

Arius kept running.

A shadow appeared on the wall. He slowed. A deep growl echoed through the corridor.

He stopped running.

The Yazlian Panthokrator walked round the bend.

Arius’s jaw dropped in terror. His feet moved backwards of their own accord. _If you run, it will chase. _He knew that much.

It swished its spiked tail in the corridor, which looked narrow next to its bulk. Its eyes focused on him, above the red eye-spots. It padded forward on its two-toed feet.

He kept moving backward along the wall, his heart thudding. He was trapped, trapped. Had to get out of here. Had to get out of this confined space.

_A door, a door. Please, a door._

His hand found an open door.

_Oh, thank the gods._

He kept stumbling back, across floor and sand.

The Panthokrator’s enormous head appeared in the door, its fangs dripping saliva. It snarled, and wriggled its shoulders through the door, following him.

Arius gave a shout of fear and jumped back. This energized the cat-lizard, which scrabbled faster.

But there was another door. He ran through the room and out, out into the open. It was a vast sandy open space.

He was in the arena. Arius looked up, around the sandy pit, at the tall purple pillars, at the stands like great planes, now full, or as full as they were going to get, with attendees for the finale of the Empire Championships.

The Panthokrator prowled into the arena, head down, shoulders hunched, its tail slashing like a barbed whip.

“Help me!” he shouted. “It’s me! Arius Opalthorpe!” His words were swallowed by a cheer from the crowd. “Oh gods! Won’t somebody help me?!”

The animal was stalking forward quickly, gaining on him with every step.

In his panic, he spied the door on the far side of the ring. It was waiting for him, if only he could get there fast enough. He picked up his stubby little legs and ran.

The last thing Arius saw was the yawning jaws of the Panthokrator.

***

Shiro touched another keypad. It lit up and the door rose. They continued through the halls. This was the isolation cellblock. He kept opening doors on confused prisoners, who stumbled out slowly, looking up and down. He hated to even think it, but he had no idea where the hangar was.

As he went, he kept speaking to Nyelle. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’re going to make it. We’re almost there.”

She was quieter now, but her skin had faded to an ashy gray. It worried him. Hadn’t she survived a whole week last time? Was this different? How was it different?

“Shiro,” she croaked, and reached out. Her fingers brushed his face.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I think... I’m not going to make it.”

“No!” He shook his head violently. “You can! You can make it, hang in there.”

She fell silent again, but kept breathing shallowly. He kept moving. More minutes passed. More hallways. Had they passed this door before? They were going in circles, he was almost sure.

Nyelle’s breathing now seemed to be a struggle for her. She made another low moan and shuddered.

Now he wondered if really she was dying. He slowed. She had become very still, and he wasn’t even sure if she was still conscious. At last, realizing they were going nowhere fast, his concern for her outweighed the situation. He stopped walking and set her down gently against the wall. She slumped.

He held her up by the shoulders and lifted her face with a hand. “Nyelle. Nyelle, are you with me?”

“Mm.” She gave her affirmation.

“You’re being brave. You’re being so brave. I just want you to know that, okay?” His voice broke. “We did it. You did it. You know that, right? I think we did. I don’t think the Championships will ever be the same again.”

“It was you,” she whispered.

“I don’t think I could have done it without you, Nyelle. Please stay with me.”

“I love you, Shiro,” she whispered.

“I love you too. Stay with me.”

“Please…” her voice was barely audible. “Escape.” And then she gave a shuddering breath and slumped again.

“Nyelle!” He held up her head again. It was limp. “Nyelle, are you with me? Wake up, wake up!”

She didn’t.

Vainly, he seized her wrist and felt for a pulse. He tried her throat, listened at her chest. There was nothing. She did not breathe.

“NYELLE!” With a scream he turned about and punched the opposite wall with his metal fist.

He just sat there for several minutes, breathing hard, shaking, tasting salt.

_Escape._

Slowly he rose to his feet. He was running out of time. He had to go now. She had told him to.

***

Shiro opened the door with his hand and proceeded down the next hall. One more door. One more hall. Just escape.

Then he heard it.

Laughter.

Haggar’s cackling echoed up and down the hall, and then she condensed at the end of it, before the next door, in a burst of black smoke.

“I have found you, my Champion,” she rasped. “Others were distracted by chaos. But not I. To me, there is nothing more important than you.”

“Witch.” He lit his arm and brandished it in a burst of purple light.

“It is time,” said Haggar, “for you to serve me. Once you have completed the finale, you will go on to be my weapon in the war for the universe. Come to me, my Champion.” She held out her hand.

The glow in his arm stopped. He felt the dark energy enter his arm. It traveled down through the elbow, the shoulder, and into his body. Shiro walked out to meet her. Her palm met his as her power flowed into him directly.

_No. This can’t be happening._

He felt it moving up, up, trying to take control of his mind.

_No. You can’t have my soul._

She couldn’t have it. That, THAT was too much.

She pushed, and he pushed back.

“Get out of my head.”

Shiro grabbed the blackness, that dark energy, and shoved it back down. And down it went.

_Get out. Get out of my body._

He pulled it up from his feet, pulled it up through his legs, pushed it from his left arm, pushed it from his chest, pushed it back into the mechanical arm. His hand began to glow. And not with violet, but with that strange golden light.

He pushed harder. Out of the shoulder. Down through the elbow. Down through the fingers and back out of the arm.

_All of it. ALL of it._

Haggar gasped and her yellow eyes widened.

The glow in his hand, suspended between them, grew brighter and brighter. It went from quintessence-gold to white, to a brilliant white light that flashed bright as a star, bright as a sun – no, _the_ sun.

And he still had a hold on it, and he kept pushing. Back and back. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore.

And for an instant the golden glow left Haggar’s eyes. Dark pupils emerged. Her skin changed in pallor, from purple to tan, and her mouth opened as she stared at him in absolute awestruck horror.

Was there… a _woman_ under that vile creature?

Shiro kept pushing.

And just for a moment, he saw everything, and he knew everything. He knew what quintessence was. He knew that she had been a woman called Honerva. He knew that she had been married to Zarkon. He knew that she had a son. He knew that she hadn’t always been like this. And he knew that somewhere, under this violet mask, Honerva was still alive.

She wrenched her hand back with a shriek.

The witch collapsed onto the ground. Those pupils looked on him for only a second more, then they faded, replaced by the golden glow. The tan skin faded back to purple. The one thing that did not fade was the look of horror.

Shiro stood, looking down at the witch who had sought to possess him, like she herself was possessed.

The thing that occupied this woman’s body and called itself _Haggar _hissed like a wounded animal.

He advanced. “_Get. Out_.”

Haggar fled, practically tripping over her robe. She took off through the door, which slid closed behind her.

Shiro took a step forward. Then he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIRO STANS ONLY IN THIS H O U S E


	31. I Am Ulaz

Shiro’s eyes opened slowly.

He knew where he was. Unfortunately. It was that room again, the one with the hexagonal ceiling lights. He was on the table. Again.

A circular blade hovered somewhere nearby. He groaned “No! No…”

A clean-shaven Galra in a helmet stood on his left, and inserted a needle into his arm.

There was an unfamiliar Galra doctor standing over him. This one had a fearsome appearance, with a narrow strip of hair down his bald head and a tight mask that covered the lower half of his face. There was a second guard standing behind him.

“You… you took my hand,” Shiro moaned. “What more do you want?”

“Stop!” the Galra surgeon said to the guard with the needle. “I want him awake enough to feel this.”

That guard nodded, stepped back, and walked for the door.

Suddenly the surgeon moved. His fist hit the guard next to him, then he grabbed his shoulders and slammed him into the wall violently. The guard slumped, dazed.

_What is going on?_

The guard who had been heading toward the door turned around at this sound, but the surgeon attacked him as well, with a fist to the face. Then he came back towards Shiro, removing his mask. He had a pale face, with a flat nose.

There was something in his hand, a small device that he pressed to Shiro’s mechanical arm. Shiro felt nothing, but there was a small _skree _noise and a tiny hologram appeared and then disappeared.

“Listen to me,” said the surgeon. “We don’t have much time.”

Shiro felt himself sliding back into unconsciousness. The Galra slapped his cheek. “Wake up! Zarkon has located the Blue Lion of Voltron on your planet Earth. You must get it before he does.”

Heat and blood came rushing back to Shiro’s face, and some wakefulness returned.

The energy restraints vanished from his wrists and ankles.

“What are you doing?” he asked, perplexed.

“I’ve planted a bomb to cover your escape.” The surgeon leaned down and placed his hand under Shiro’s shoulder, lifting him to a sitting position. “Get to a pod. Now.”

Shiro slid his legs down from the table, trying to understand. “Who are you?”

“I am Ulaz. Now come on!”

Ulaz opened the doors of the chamber. Then he paused in the doorway, crouching. Shiro followed his lead, crouching beside him.

“Zarkon will know that I released you, so I must disappear. But if you survive, go to the coordinates in your arm. The Blade of Marmora is with you.”

_The Blade of Marmora?_

“Why are you helping me?” asked Shiro.

Ulaz returned his gaze with yellow Galran eyes. “As a fighter, and a leader, you give hope. Hurry! Earth needs you. We all do.” Then Ulaz pointed down the hall in the direction Shiro was to run.

_The hangar._

He ran.

He couldn’t go fast in his state. He was still weakened from whatever he’d done to Haggar, partially sedated and out of breath. He rounded a corner in the hallway and paused behind an engaged column.

There were the sentries, on their standard patrol. He waited until they passed him by. Then he kept moving.

Down the hall. Another door to open with his hand.

And finally the hallway widened out.

_This is it. The hangar._

He paused and looked up and down. He could see a pod, a small space vehicle, sitting at the far end. Sentries walked by in groups, and there were tracks in the floor, carrying carts stacked with golden quintessence canisters. He waited until one group of sentries passed and then started for the pod.

Something hit him in the legs.

_A cart. _He still wasn’t thinking clearly. The cart stopped, and one of the glass canisters toppled onto the floor with a loud clang.

The sentries turned around.

Shiro started running.

Before him, the pod doors slid open automatically. He was only steps away. But two of the sentries had caught up with him. He had time to grab one and _throw_ it away across the floor.

The other seized him from behind around the waist. It squeezed with its powerful robotic limbs. Shiro gave a cry of effort as he struggled to break free.

And Ulaz’s bomb exploded.

There was a burst of fire and an incredible concussive blast of pressure. The sentry, behind him, caught the brunt of the force, and it staggered, losing its grip. Together, they were thrown into the pod.

Shiro hit the floor with his head. The noise of the hangar was suddenly muffled, and there was a ringing in his ears. He looked up, and he saw lights dancing in his eyes, but he had enough time to see the pod door clamp shut on the sentry, chopping it in half at the waist.

The pod ejected, and as it did, everything faded to black.


	32. Epilogue

“This is our last chance!” shouted Shiro to Pidge, Lance, Hunk, and Keith. “Let’s finish this!” Voltron met Zarkon’s mech again in a frantic clash.

Zarkon’s violet lightning coursed through the cockpit of the black lion. He was still trying to connect. It wasn’t working, but the energy directed through his body sizzled and pressed down on him like a heavy g-force. It built up in his chest like a pressure from inside. He felt as though it would tear him apart.

With a tremendous effort, Shiro jammed Zarkon’s bayard—_his _bayard—into the dock. The black lion repelled the energy, stabbing it back through Zarkon’s mech. There was a tremendous flash.

And then—Keith’s bayard. A flaming sword appeared in the right hand of Voltron. One last strike for the universe. One last strike and the universe would be rid of Zarkon forever.

The sword plunged into the chest of Zarkon’s mech. Voltron drifted back. The purple energy had nowhere to go, it streamed out into space with streamers of lightning. A collapsing pinpoint appeared. Zarkon’s mech had reached critical mass.

And then it exploded. Shiro’s cockpit whited out, and Voltron broke apart. The black lion spiraled out of control. Something was happening to him. He reached for the controls. Something was h—

***

It was dark.

He opened his eyes. No, it was not dark.

He was lying on his back, under a sky that glittered with thousands of stars. He got to his feet. The ground was smooth and flat. It was black—it was glass—no, it was a mirror that reflected back the stars and moons. 

Some were close, cutting into the skyline. Others were just pinpricks. There were red nebulas and blue planets, dark and silhouetted against burning suns. He didn’t recognize any of them.

“Where am I?” His voice echoed into the stillness. He looked down at himself. He was wearing what he’d been wearing before. He looked the same. But his hands—his body—seemed to glow in the starlight.

“Shiro.” He heard a voice, and turned around.

It was Nyelle.

She stood there, wearing the same dress he’d last seen her in. Her hair was long, blowing about her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and sparkled with joy and sadness.

He remembered.

He _remembered._

He took a tentative step toward her. “Am I… am I dead?”

“Sort of.” She smiled and reached out to take his hand. She had a soft-rimmed glow, but to him her touch was solid and real. “I can’t believe…” she whispered. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you again.”

“I can’t believe it either.” Her hand was tangible, though, and his as well. Was this it? Was he really dead? Was it over? “What do you mean, sort of?”

“You’re in the Black Lion’s consciousness. It’s a strange place. Another plane of existence, you could say. It overlaps the boundaries between worlds.”

“I don’t understand,” he breathed. “How are you here?”

She kept her hold on his hand. “I’m here to keep you company.”

“Company…”

“It’s going to be a little while.”

He looked around anxiously at the sky and horizon. “Forever?”

“No.” She smiled again, reassuringly.

“How long? Voltron, the Paladins, I—”

“I should have known you would be anxious to return to the universe.” She pulled herself closer to him. He accepted her embrace. His arms crept around her.

“Nyelle…”

She reached up to his hair. “But why not take this time to rest? You defeated Zarkon. The universe can wait. It will manage.”

So that was it, then. He had to wait. And she… she was right. He let out a deep sigh, finally releasing some of the tension trapped within his soul. They stood like that for some time.

Finally she let go and sank to her knees. He sat down beside her.

“It is lovely here, isn’t it?” she said. “And so peaceful.”

“It…” he looked around at the moons and stars. It was not silent. There was a low hum, a kind of vibrating music, with a thin, high melody. “It is, yes.”

“I’m glad to be here,” she said. “We can sit here as long as you want. But you can sleep. If you want to.”

“I think I’d like that.”

She nodded. Slowly, he stretched himself out and lay back with his head in her lap. Her fingers slowly stroked through his hair. “It’s okay,” she said. “You can rest now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some important headcanons:  
By the time Shiro rescues the aliens from the Lapix in S1 E1, the Empire Championships are no longer being held. This is clear because Sendak’s ship is being used for military purposes such as finding the Lions, yet is clearly stated to be the same one in which Shiro was held captive. It’s reasonable to infer that the Championships took place on Sendak’s ship due to the fact that in S1 E1 Shiro hears that “Sendak’s ship” is circling Arus and assumes that some of the same prisoners he knew in the ring might be on it.  
Their actual presence there is a little more difficult to explain, but we can perhaps assume that even after the fall of the championships, Sendak’s ship was still used for routine prisoner transports along with military duties. The fact that the exact group of prisoners who Shiro saved from Myzax were being held together at that particular time on that particular ship can’t really be explained as anything other than bizarre coincidence, though, whether Sendak’s ship is canonically the arena ship or not.  
One might be tempted to think the championships are still taking place because of Lotor’s arena fight in season 4. However, close examination does not bear that out. The details of the arena are clearly different; it is smaller than the one shown in S1 E3. Also, whereas the audience in S1 E3 is made of aliens of all kinds, the audience in Lotor’s fight is only Galra. Add to that that it is clear that Lotor is voluntarily competing for glory, and we can see that it is not some gladiator slave fight. I think it is reasonable to infer that Lotor’s fight takes place at a different location, and due to the fact that only Galra are watching, galactic attitudes towards televised combat have changed significantly since Shiro was champion.
> 
> This fic is also partly based on the tweets by Josh Keaton (Shiro's voice actor) who suggested that the reason Haggar gave Shiro the arm was in order to control him because he had refused to kill in the ring.
> 
> Lastly, special mention to "OTHER WORLDS THAN THESE" by Starset  
And thanks to @Szzzt for her supportive comments!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I have another shorter fic about Keith and Krolia called "Exile" if you want to check it out and if you haven't had enough "comfort" of the "hurt-comfort" equation then it may be suitable.
> 
> Lastly, I am starting my own original webcomic at swaycomic dot tumblr dot com if you want to see what my original fiction is like. It is about a mermaid/siren who becomes morally conflicted after she discovers that the human she killed might actually be a person after all. 
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic leave me a comment below please! Thank you!


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